


Devil's Bridge

by x57



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Berlin (City), Canon Compliant, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Extremely Underage, M/M, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Percival is having a bad day, Shota, Shotacon, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage - Freeform, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, adorable obscuri, eventuallly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 199,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57
Summary: “Poor thing. What you must want to do to me. And to be left in such a state as this, barely a shadow of what you were.”Percival wakes up in the hospital, free for the first time in months, and learns of the boy who’d fallen for his face. Credence is taken in, temporarily diminished in power and stature, by a man he doesn’t know and whose goals he doesn’t understand. Grindelwald offers to teach him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Fan Art] Small Comforts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226166) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57). 



Percival didn’t feel well when he opened his eyes. He found not, as he had been expecting, the familiar softness of his own pillow and blankets, nor the familiar room of his own flat. Instead, he found the pillow hard and the blankets scratchy. Everything had an off-white, sterile colour to it.

That wasn’t what caused him such discomfort, however. It was a sense of grogginess and of nausea roiling somewhere between his stomach and his diaphragm. Opening his eyes was difficult. They felt heavy and he found that focusing on any particular thing farther away than the bed he laid in was equally troublesome. He knew this should have worried him, but it didn’t. At least not immediately. He could feel the undercurrent of worry, the knowledge that this felt like the weight of a potion, but the feeling didn’t touch him.

Everything was too bright. He shifted, tried to turn his head and found that he could. When he did, more of the room came into focus. The white walls and metal bed frame, the same off-white curtains as the colour of his sheets, and a wheeled cart with charts and a clipboard told him all he needed to know. 

He was in a hospital. 

He was out of his flat. Out of Grindelwald’s hold. Very likely out of the man’s reach, or so he could only assume. A sensation of relief tinged the undercurrent of his senses beneath the numbness that permeated his mind. 

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He didn’t know what happened to the man who’d kept him. All he remembered was being told to sleep, just like every time that man had done before leaving Percival alone.

* * *

In Europe, they had always underestimated wandless magic. In the bowels of MACUSA, they did not. Whether that had anything to do with American wizards in the city of New York growing very used to living among muggles and concealing their wands, even going without them when possible, or whether that was just standard caution against those powerful enough to use it, Gellert did not know. It was curious, but in the end, it still didn’t matter. 

Gellert stood against the bars of his cell, fists wrapped around the cold metal and forehead pressed as far as it would go between two bars. He needed to feel every inch of the magic woven into the cubic space around him. The physicality of the iron in his grip helped. It would not yield to his palms, but it would to his mind. His internal dialog switched from English to Latin and it became easier to feel the bonds of the magic that kept him there. It was woven so tight, trying to lock him not just inside the space of the cell, but to suppress his abilities completely. Gellert closed his eyes and let himself feel it. It was a sensation he could only think of as being buried under a pit of mud, suffocating and heavier than it could ever seem from the surface, trying to free his magic from beneath the interwoven wards. 

At first it seemed impossible. The spells were so dense that nothing could move them. There was simply no room. Until he gripped harder and grit his teeth, collecting as much raw magic as he could and forcing a bit of it to spring up and out of himself, barely anything at all and not even touching the real boundaries of the prison yet. It left him breathing hard, but it was something. 

No alarm sounded, and that was one of his real tests. The wards were not sensitive enough to detect such small amounts of magic, but he’d done it and he would do it again. And again, until he’d freed himself enough to tear down the bars under his hands and leave for good. 

It wouldn’t be long.

* * *

The day Gellert Grindelwald disappeared from MACUSA’s impenetrable underbelly, he did not leave New York. A mass of aurors combed the streets for him, handing out search warrants to every semi-relevant establishment they knew of. Magical engineers inspected the cell where he’d been kept for only three days and they could not determine how he’d overpowered the wards. The whole of the magical community was on high alert for him and yet he had no desire to leave straight away. They were scouring every ocean liner that left port along a hundred mile line down the east coast, and still they wouldn’t find him. 

He had not crossed the Atlantic through muggle means, nor would he use them to return to Europe, but he was not averse to doing business with them either, and keeping muggle quarters in the Bronx was not beneath him. He simply found the better muggle quarters than the area usually offered. He wouldn’t be staying long. 

“Only a day or two,” he informed the doorman with his muggle disguise firmly in place—an elder fellow with a cheery face and a national origin that was hard to pinpoint—”and then it was back off to traveling the wide world. Perhaps Australia this time,” he added with a chuckle and a wave, comfortable with the face he wore until he was safely behind the closed doors of his rented flat on the fifth floor. 

In truth, he needed to establish communication with his remaining followers in New York City before they scattered, anxious of the aurors after news of Grindelwad’s escape had hit the papers that afternoon. He needed this division of the movement to take root in New York and grow, and it would be easier to see that taken care of here than from afar. 

It was not difficult. All he needed to do was send the order and, with the right disguise, watch each cog in the order he had carefully built during his time in America come together. 

He only needed a few days to do it. Order after order he sent and watched as his followers were reassured that they were unknown to MACUSA. He spent those days entertained with the papers rehashing his disappearance and the wild speculations abounding as to his current whereabouts. He laid awake at night thinking his plans for America hadn’t been totally lost, even if the obscurial boy lingered on his thoughts most frequently in those hours. 

Gellert was not prone to speaking to himself aloud, but as soon as he laid down to bed those nights, he found himself with a constant stream of dialog he should have used with the boy. He went over every conversation they’d ever had and tried to work it out differently. Mostly, it was what he’d said in the end that had done it, but he’d been too coarse all the way through, and he knew it in hindsight even if the boy hadn’t noticed. Credence barely knew anything of kindness. If Mr. Graves had a note of impatience with him at times, Gellert thought it might have only felt right to the boy. He should have been more careful. He should have paid attention. Now he’d paid for his mistake, or Credence had, but the difference seemed negligible compared to the loss of such potential. 

After an hour or so of such thoughts, Gellert would force himself to turn over and shut them out of his mind. It was over. The boy with sad eyes and a mouth so sinfully red and artfully shaped it was a wonder no one had ever stopped him on the street and tried to take him away before, that boy was gone. There was no getting him back, and all the raw power hidden beneath his skin went with him. 

Gellert had to accept it. 

With his mind forced blank in hopes of sleep and eyes shut tight in determination, he did not see the few, tiny tendrils of oily smoke curling around his fifth story window.

* * *

Gellert awoke to a chill in the air. It was the first thing he became aware of, before his eyes had even opened, and he could not comprehend why that was. He pulled the thick blankets up to his chin and wrinkled his nose. He’d charmed the damn place when the heat had gone out before. Gellert didn’t use this muggle identity often, but he’d been forced to for a handful of days during his time in New York and it had gone out on more than one occasion. The spell should have kept even if he’d been away, but apparently, it had not. 

He lifted his head in frustration and reached for his wand, the most powerful wand known to wizardkind, intent on fixing the damn heating. His fingers paused as they closed around the handle, something across the room having caught his eye as he’d turned over. Something that was not the way it had been when he’d fallen asleep the night prior. The window was cracked open. 

Gellert gripped the wand and jolted upright, scanning the room with every sense he had, yet finding nothing more out of place. With a spell under his breath, he checked to see whether he remained alone inside the flat and found that, oddly enough, he was. 

With care in his movements not to make a sound, he rose from the bed and crossed to the window, performing another charm to detect any residual magic left behind upon its opening. He found none. Which should not have been the case. He’d equipped the flat with just enough protections not to allow anyone but himself entry, magically or otherwise. He’d intentionally refrained from putting too much power into the wards, lest he run the risk of them being noticed by MACUSA, but they should have held up to anything but the most powerful of breaching spells. And there certainly should have been traces left behind if they had been breached by magic. 

He reached out and lifted the window up, noting it did not open easily, until he could glance outside. Nothing in particular stood out. The same street stretched out below and there were no noticeable signs of the neighbours doing anything strange in the adjacent apartments. Gellert ground his teeth and slammed the window shut, noting with no small amount of affront, that it was not particularly easy to close. 

That was it. He stalked into the adjacent room and began readying to leave. There were not many things he missed when he put his mind to investigate, and he did not relish the uncertainty this morning left hanging about the flat. He trusted his instincts, and he decided that it was time to move on. Even if this occurrence was somehow explained away as a fluke later, he did not enjoy sticking around in quarters he was not certain were not one hundred percent under his control. 

Thirty minutes later saw him showered and packed and wearing his muggle face again, waving goodbye to the doorman, bidding farewell in a light and airy tone and a smile on his face. The man probably thought him something of an eccentric, or one of those businessmen who can’t stop themselves from starting up something new and had to be out of town every few months or so. Gellert found that if he wore a persona well enough, he did not need to spend much time building it up. He would not be remembered suspiciously here, and he fully intended the apartment to remain available to him if he ever needed to return. 

But it was time he left regardless. Although he had planned to stay another day or two, his message to his followers had been well received and he did not feel the need to linger. With a single suitcase in hand, Gellert hailed a muggle cab and made his way across the city towards Manhattan, or more specifically, the river. 

It would be a shame to say goodbye to New York, he thought as he watched cars and pedestrians alike pass. Its constant chaos and noise and thriving, filthy energy were enlivening, even to a man who’d grown up in a European countryside. Perhaps, especially to a man who’d grown up in a European countryside, and who’d dreamed of more. He imagined he could see the witches and wizards employed by MACUSA on the street corners as the cab rushed past, those searching for him, and still more of their kind among the faces of the pedestrians around him, blending into the crowds, taking the long way home every day. Just like muggles did. 

Gellert sighed and glanced ahead, past his driver and through the car’s narrow windshield. “You can stop at Blackwell’s Island.” 

The driver nodded and attempted to strike up conversation, but Gellert was distracted and only paid half an ear to the man’s commentary on their destination and casual questions until they lapsed back into silence. He paid the driver once they crossed the bridge and stopped across the street from the City Hospital. Finally, he was left alone once again, steeling himself against the wind and the strange sensation of a tingle down his spine, likely due to stepping into the chill. 

It was a minor relief, being alone. This island, made up of New York’s less distinguished institutions, was not heavily watched by the wizarding community unless one of their own happened to be separated from their wand and later found in the nearby asylum, as had happened on at least one known occasion. It was also not heavy in muggle foot traffic apart from the main streets. For both of those reasons Gellert had chosen it.

He made his way across the street and down the walk, keeping an eye out for nearby muggles, but fortunately the cold kept most of them inside and the few he did pass hurried along without a second glance. He cast a notice a notice-me-not charm once he was headed down towards the river, feeling unusually as though he wasn’t alone in spite of all evidence to the contrary. 

There were only a couple small, concrete docks on the island, and they were usually tended to by the muggles as a precaution due to the nearby penitentiary and to oversee the coming and going of goods, but Gellert slipped easily down the stairwell to one without notice. The enclave next to the dock was empty, as it had been when he’d arrived in New York and would most often remain. Not many people travelled down there, except for the groundskeepers when they wanted to take breaks away from prying eyes. Gellert caught site of an ashtray and a half-hidden bottle of what might be whiskey tucked behind a shelf in the corner. The muggles had not disturbed what he had come there for, however. 

There, tucked against a corner across from the dock, was a pile of old junk. Gellert strode towards a bucket propped up against the wall, rusty and with a small hole clearly visible in its side, slightly separated from the pile. He was already making plans for his return to Europe—Berlin, to be precise—where he would be back in his own company, but something stopped him mid-stride. The same prickle down his back he’d felt when he’d gotten out of the cab happened again, almost warm this time, and Gellert recognised it. It was the sensation of _magic_. And it was very close. 

On instinct, he whirled and drew his wand, but found himself pointing at nothing but the dock and the open expanse of the river beyond. He listened hard for any sound above him or to the sides of the enclave, but heard nothing. He had no doubts of what he felt though. It was still there. Somewhere very close, someone was using magic. Wild magic, too. It was not usually this easy to sense such a thing, even for a powerful wizard trained to be attuned to it, but most wizards performing simple spells did so with minimal force and did so “cleanly”. This was…anything but. 

Carefully, he stepped back the way he came, away from the wall and the bucket but not too far. Just far enough to make a dive for it if he needed to get out of there quickly. The faint tingle sparked again, this time at the back of his neck and then down his left arm. It felt like electricity, heated little pinpricks of harmless magic that seemed to want to be something more, but fell hopelessly short. It was completely invisible. 

Gellert did not like the feeling of not knowing what it was, the suspicion that it might be an attack and he might be indulging a foolish sense of curiosity, but he also had a feeling he was about to find out. As a precaution, however, he brought his wand before him and focused on a spell he’d learned long ago, barely older than a boy, and disappeared. 

It was an extremely powerful disillusionment charm, rendering him invisible to any living being or muggle technology, and it had served him well in uncertain situations before. Yet Gellert was still careful as he moved about the room, realising that the little bursts of magic did not extend outside that space. Whatever it was, it was contained within the enclave and it had followed him there, he was sure of it. 

He gave it another minute and still nothing happened. The sparks did not die out, but they did occur less frequently. In spite of the disillusionment charm, he still felt them around his fingers although he had no way to determine if that was the magic’s intention or if it simply filled enough space in the room for him to feel it. If he wasn’t mistaken, however, these sparks of raw magic were losing power. With consideration, he raised his wand again and funnelled a little of his own magic into the force. Whatever this was, he now suspected it was not a trap laid out to harm him. It both felt and was behaving more like a wounded magical creature, and there were times Gellert could not contain his curiosity. 

Upon meeting the invisible force, Gellert’s magic began to draw something out of the air that wasn’t there before. Something…like smoke. Little wisps of black smoke took shape where the tip of his wand had been and they curled around and around again in an oily path through the air, lengthening little by little, until Gellert realised that it was not smoke at all. 

His eyes widened and he dropped both the disillusionment charm and the unremarkable muggle visage. This force was not smoke and neither was it residual, raw magic. Or rather, it was, but it was not the sort left behind by another wizard. It was magic and wizard combined, a parasite that had become so thoroughly one with its host that they were inseparable, nearly one being. 

_It was the obscurus._

As soon as the realisation hit, Gellert checked himself. But he wasn’t mistaken. It wasn’t wishful thinking. He reached forward with his free hand and let it glide through the wisps of darkness, finding them warm and indeed somewhat oily to the touch before the electric sparks prickled over his skin again. This time not only heat, but pain came with it, as though the obscurus were driving itself into the flesh of his hand in an effort to attack him. 

Gellert grinned and laughed. “You followed me here.” There was no question in it, no doubt in his mind. The pins and needles in his palm drew up his wrist and the inky black wisps lengthened until they were drawn thin and translucent, stretched to their fullest, and Gellert could not help laughing again. “Look at you. I wasn’t wrong was I? You’re a miracle. To have survived….” 

The pricks did not relent, but it was a pitiful attack. “You want to hurt me, don’t you?” Gellert drew his wand over his forearm where the wisps that remained of the obscurus held onto him. He drew on his magic again, building it up little by little in the core of the Elder wand, but he did not offer it to the insubstantial force, merely let it feel the power it did not have. “Is that what you tried to do to me last night? Sneak into my flat and annoy me with a chill?” Gellert felt the spark snap harsher for a moment before it died out again and then resumed its previous efforts at torturing his palm. He lowered his voice and crooned, “Poor thing. What you must want to do to me. And to be left in such a state as this, barely a shadow of what you were.” 

His smile began to fade, listening to his own words. It was true. This once mighty obscurus was nothing now. It had been even less without the little bit of magic Gellert had fed it. It was practically dead. But it stung him sharply again, this time swirling in menacing circles around his forearm, desperate to harm him even though he could tell it was tiring quickly. 

Gellert cocked his head, watching it twist in on itself and explode outward again, a tiny little tornado in the palm of his hand. He had half a mind to be disgusted with the feeling of admiration it drew forth within him. This little being, with its last vestiges of life was bent on satisfying its spite. For him, specifically, but he did not find that off-putting. And it had once been so powerful. Powerful enough that he’d spent months in search of it. Crossed an ocean to do so. Powerful enough that he’d wanted it for himself, had known how great of a weapon it could be in his army. There were few things Gellert could not do when he put his mind to it and few people he could not sway to his side of things given enough time, and the boy, if he’d only known, would not have stood a chance at resisting him. 

“Credence,” Gellert said, softly this time, holding the small well of magic in his wand steady. “Would you like a fair shot at your revenge?”

The twisting, turning mass of ink drew back and the pinpricks lightened. Gellert had caught it off guard, but he knew it could understand him now. He didn’t have to repeat himself. The mass left his forearm and drew around the wand, circling it, dimming the glow of magic with its darkness, but unable to steal any of it until Gellert allowed it to be taken. 

“I assume that counts as a ‘yes’.” Gellert cocked his head again, feeling a smile form at his mouth. “Not too proud to accept help from me, are you? But I doubt you’d hesitate to kill me either. If you could.” His tone turned almost affectionate, thinking of Credence’s wrath in the station. How the boy must hate him now, after dying. Or nearly dying. Gellert supposed it was his fault it had happened the way it had, even though he’d not intended it. Credence would surely see it the same, blaming Gellert for his death as much as for abandoning him. 

Slowly, Gellert fed the magic he’d been holding into the obscurus. It seemed to breathe around the wand, expanding in a swell, overtaken by the energy, and then contracting again. The wisps of black grew darker, more solid, and they began to multiply. The whole entity doubled in size and Gellert could feel a pulse thrumming within it now, not just the pulse of magic, but the very life within it. 

“That’s it,” he whispered before the store of magic drained completely. The obscurus hovered over his wand, now encompassing his forearm, seemingly unsure of what to do with itself. He doubted it would be long before it attacked him again, but for the moment it seemed to be relishing its own form, perhaps hoping for more of his magic. “Feels better, doesn’t it?” he asked. 

The obscurus did not react to his words, but it did draw farther out, expanding as it had tried to do before. This time it didn’t cling to Gellert. It was moving on its own and did so faster, little by little. It grew until it began to thin again, and with a jolt of violence it contracted in itself once more, still unable to form the shape it once had. 

Gellert thought he knew what it was trying to do now. “You’re so used to being a boy that you miss it, don’t you? And you can’t change back.” It would take some investigating to see whether Credence had in fact died in the battle with the aurors and this little bit that was left was the remnants of the parasite, but Gellert didn’t think so. The parasite was a magical force alone, and though it had spent more time inside of Credence and as a part of him than any obscurus ever had in a human before, it still behaved more like a human, and it understood him. 

It began to drift. Seemingly no longer interested in attacking Gellert, the tendrils of black oil oozed down to the concrete floor. Gellert crouched beside it. “Credence.” He took care with his tone, but still the mass roiled at him. “Come with me. Let me help you. I promise you’ll get your shot at me. At your revenge.” He held a hand out, palm up, but the tendrils nearest it shot away from his touch. He couldn’t help chuckling. Mere moments ago it had been desperate to hold onto him in both its desire to attack and sap the magic he offered it. “Don’t _wallow_.” He drew out the word, chiding the creature. 

It shuddered and rippled and the sparking magic inside it started up again. Gellert was sure it would be screeching at him if it could. The very air crackled around it this time, but it still couldn’t grow any stronger or cause him any real damage. 

“Now, once more,” Gellert pocketed his wand and stood, looking down at the black, pooling mass, “come with me, or stay here and fade into the ether for what may very well be the rest of eternity. I won’t be back for you.” 

The tendrils rippled and the mass drew away from him, but the moment he stepped towards the bucket, the creature flung itself forward, leeching around his legs. It stabbed sharp thorns of magic into him wherever it touched and he scowled, reaching down and letting it coil about his arm again. “None of that now. You can be upset with me later.” The stabbing pain turned to pinpricks along his arm and he couldn’t help his smile again, nor the swell of satisfaction rising in his chest at the obscurus’ acquiescence. This was barely the force he’d sought after, but it was something still. It was _potential_. And he’d thought he’d lost it all. 

“Come, Credence. Let me show you the world outside of this little bubble of yours.” Gellert grinned at the roiling mass and wondered if it could see him like it—like the boy—used to. It showed no fear now, however, and that was a good sign. He strode to the bucket and gave the creature one last look. “Now, hold on tight.” With that, Gellert reached down and laid his hand over the frigid tin and was pulled by a sharp hook into nothingness.

* * *

The portkey dropped them in a wooded grove with the sun hanging low in the sky above the trees. Gellert straightened as the hook in his chest dissipated and made sure the obscurus had made the journey along with him. It had. Its tendrils had nearly flattened against his forearm. Half of it had seeped underneath not only his coat, but also his shirtsleeves, clinging to his very skin. It was so like the boy it had once been that it brought out a strange sense of amusement within Gellert and he was chuckling again before he could help it. 

“I have a feeling you’re going to like Berlin,” he said more to himself than to the creature as he looked out the edge of the grove to an open stretch of snow covering the field beyond, dotted with patches of brown brush and little craggy hills. “All the sin you could imagine concentrated into one dazzling little city.” Gellert grinned and set off.

They weren’t far outside the city. He would make the hike in under an hour in order to avoid the anti-apparition zones that had sprung up around many nearby cities in the wake of his attacks. He was just far enough out not to be noticed. 

Gellert hummed as he walked, his spirits picking up with every step. Although he’d communicated regularly with his contacts entrusted with access to the alternate fireplace he’d kept, which were very few, and had never truly left them to their own devices, he had been gone for some time. Now he was returning to his own domain with what he’d set out for—creating a coordinated foothold in America and the obscurus. If not the obscurial as well, but he would have to see about that. If the host was in fact gone or disabled beyond repair and the obscurus was this withered, it might not be strong enough on its own to manage being of much use at all. It would be a terribly disappointing outcome, after performing such a magnificent feat of surviving MACUSA’s attack, but Gellert would have to accept it and probably destroy the thing. It would only be a nuisance otherwise, with it still being bent on its revenge against him. 

That was another problem, even if he found that the obscurus could recover its power. He had to know that he could control it like he could have controlled the boy when he’d been alive and human. There had never been an instance of an obscurus finding a new host either, especially not one who hadn’t been as downtrodden, for lack of a better word, as the original host. But Gellert was never one to pass up a challenge if it came to that and having personal control over such a force would be even better than having control of its host. If it was a possibility, it would still be a long shot. If there was anyone least likely to become an obscurial, it was Gellert Grindelwald. 

By the time he entered the city with the full disillusionment charm in place, Gellert had the beginnings of a plan. The obscurus had not moved from his arm and did not seem to be tempted to follow anyone but him as they passed people on the street. He had avoided apparating near the grove, but inside the city was fair game. 

Gellert took the obscurus to the flat he kept there, unused for the many months he’d been away, but tidy and looked after by a house elf. He arrived with a loud crack echoing off the empty walls and found the place just as he had left it—spacious, elegantly furnished, and empty. The street below was muted with a charm. They might as well have been alone on the countryside again for how well the apartment was locked to the outside world. 

Step after step echoed through the hall as Gellert entered the living room. “Gwendoline,” he called. There was no need to raise his voice, the elf could hear him perfectly well wherever he was when he wanted her. 

A small pop echoed in the hall he’d just vacated and Gellert looked down to find the little elf staring up at him with unusually wide eyes. “Master is home! Gwendoline is very happy to see you, sir. It’s been so long.” She rocked forward on her dainty toes, wisps of dark, ringlet curls bouncing around her high forehead, but her hands trembled where they were clasped in front of her pillowcase dress. 

“Thank you, Gwendoline. I’d like dinner. And stock the pantry if you haven’t recently.” Gellert paused. “A stew, I think. And set out two bowls.” 

She gave a quick nod and a “Yessir,” and disapparated immediately, even if it was just to the kitchen. 

Gellert sighed and glanced down at his arm, noting that the obscurus hadn’t showed itself from beneath his sleeve. It hadn’t even moved. He walked over to the window and raised his arm to let the light fall on it as he unrolled his sleeve. The creature underneath, when revealed, didn’t shrink back. It undulated softly against his skin and Gellert smiled, marvelling at the way it sucked in the light around it. The antithesis of a lumos charm. He brushed his fingers over the dark coils and the thing bristled, but didn’t attempt to shock him again. His smile grew wider and he moved to the couch, settling upon it with his arm still raised. 

“Come now. We’re home and safe. Let’s see what you can do,” Gellert implored of the obscurus with another gentle stroke of his fingers and received another bristling reaction. He took his hand away and looked at the creature. It may not be able to recognize the expression on his face, but he knew it understood him. 

After a minute or so of patiently waiting with the mass of tendrils and darkness growing increasingly restless, it slipped from his forearm and floated listlessly into the air. Gellert rested his elbows on his knees and waited, patient and watchful. The creature began to unfurl itself, stretching the way it had on the island, but it quivered and shook before it got very far. Gellert cocked his head, watching it become agitated and coil back in on itself before spooling out again. This time he recognized the faint shape of a figure as it stretched itself, its inky hue darkening in pulses as though it were trying to draw more magic, or a part of itself it had been lacking. 

Gellert watched this process begin and fail several times before the obscurus’ quivering mass grew too unstable to continue. Its magic was sparking again, although this time Gellert did not seem to be the focus of its rage. If he’d stepped outside and plucked a storm cloud from the sky to hover in his living room, there would have been little difference. 

“ _Enough_ ,” he said when the cloud had only managed to form the hazy outline of a young man whose face and limbs just couldn’t seem to take shape. The mass of smoke and tendrils collapsed again and shrank from him when he stood, bristling and sparking in its agitation. He drew nearer regardless, ignoring the creature’s spite. “Clearly, your human half is still in there,” Gellert began, taking out his wand and moving it through the air above the obscurus. “Obvious, really. The parasite likely has very little higher brain-like function. Had it been separated completely, it would have either attacked me until it wore itself down to nothing or it would have travelled listlessly through the world forever. But you didn’t, did you.” Gellert took a step closer and the creature retreated back, its coils raising like a shield. He didn’t stop until he was crouching before it. “You hate me. But you want to live more, don’t you? So let me help you.” 

Gellert raised his wand again. The obscurus did not move. It took another minute for it to lower its coils and allow Gellert to cast a spell. He did so quietly, moving his wand over the black form and raining drops of blue light down onto it. The magic passed right through, but the scanning spell told Gellert enough. 

“You’ve lost a great deal of yourself,” he told the creature, folding his hands in his lap. “Some of which, I believe can be regained, but it’s difficult to say how much. You’re wounded, magically speaking, and no one to my knowledge has ever tried and succeeded to heal an obscurial before.” He did not offer the creature a smile this time. His smiles were for himself now. Even if the creature could see him with human eyes, Credence had seen through them. “I’m afraid it looks as though your physical form will be too difficult to manage, if your attempts just now were any indication,” Gellert added. “I can feed you more of my magic, which will help a little, but it isn’t a true fix. I can apply patches where needed to sustain your body to a point, but…a wizard’s magic is his own, and ultimately, you’ll have to heal on your own.” 

The mass of darkness lowered itself to the floor, its trembling diminished, slightly. It did not look particularly hopeful, but it did not retreat from him again, either. 

“Alright then.” Gellert straightened and raised his wand once more. “Let’s see what I can do.” 

With that, he closed his eyes and muttered another, quiet spell, focusing on the mass pooled before him. When the white light of his magic hit the creature, it emitted an unholy sound for the first time he’d ever heard, even back in New York. It was nothing a human throat could produce, but somewhere between a gale wind and a spirit’s howl, both wild and intelligent and all the more unsettling for it. 

The creature’s form rose from the ground once more, twisting and turning on itself like a figure caught in the midst of apparition. It was surely in pain, but that only spurred Gellert to focus harder into feeding his magic into the creature. Pain meant life. Pain meant not only consciousness, not only spirit, but _physicality_ , nerves and bone and tissue, and that’s what he wanted for the obscurial. If the boy lost inside of the obscurus could not reshape himself, then Gellert would have to do it for him. 

Gellert was very quickly finding the limitations the obscurial had already encountered, however. Even with the energy fed into it, there was simply too much of itself missing. 

When Gellert opened his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the boy he’d known for a short time. Credence’s upper torso hung in suspended animation amid a whirling mass of black tendrils pierced with the light of Gellert’s magic all over. It lit up Credence’s skin from the inside, but he could see that the boy was not conscious and most of him was immaterial. Credence wasn’t still, either. His face contorted in pain, fading in and out of black oil and white light until Gellert gave up on that track and let the boy’s form fall away into the mass he’d been before. 

If Gellert could not save Credence as he was, then there was perhaps another option. The boy’s magic had been diminished. His physical form had been ripped from him, but Gellert could give him another. One that fit the state of his magic. One that might allow him to grow into it as he should have, naturally, and one that would not stretch the amount of matter that remained to him. 

Gellert drew on his energy again, focusing it into a narrow band and searching for the remaining power of the obscurial. Without stopping, he cast legilimens to locate the mind of the boy inside. Once he found it, Gellert gathered that magic and dove inside, back and back and further back still, until Credence’s memories changed, until counter tops were taller and unusual things sometimes happened around him, but only when he was at his most lonely, or frightened…or angry. Gellert’s magic pooled there, engulfing that space in Credence’s mind, taking hold of it and drawing it forth until he pulled it into existence. 

He’d closed his eyes at some point because when he opened them again, the swirling darkness and the swell of his own bright magic had faded. In their place laid a small body, shoulders shaking and breath wheezing, curled in on itself so tightly that all Gellert could see was pale skin and a mess of black hair. 

He sank down to his knees and reached out for the trembling figure, drawing the boy—now truly a boy—into his arms. It became immediately apparent that Credence’s trembling wasn’t just shock. The boy’s face was red, his cheeks and eyes puffy, and tears streamed down his face. Gellert grabbed a throw blanket from the edge of the couch and wrapped it around the boy, holding him tight and attempting to quiet the whimpering that came with his every breath. 

Credence quieted after a time in Gellert’s arms, after soft strokes of his hair and soft shushing. The boy fit in his lap easily now. Only his legs spilled out onto the floor, and Gellert made sure to wrap them in the blanket as well. If he had to guess the boy’s age, he would have thought it around nine or ten, and he had no idea how cognizant Credence would be once the pain and the shock faded. Credence curled into him, tucking his head between the crook of Gellert’s arm and his shoulder. The boy was seeking warmth. Gellert stroked his back and massaged the back of his head, making his touch as gentle as he could, even more gentle than he’d been in those dark alleys where they’d spent the majority of their time together. 

And then Gellert felt eyes on him. It was a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, the senses of a finely tuned legilimens spell. He glanced to the doorway and found Gwendoline staring at him, her diminutive figure hunched and uncertain. “Master’s dinner is ready, if he pleases.” She did not comment on the boy. 

“You can go,” Gellert said, not kindly, and Gwendoline’s shoulders rose to her ears before she disappeared with a pop. 

When Gellert turned back to Credence, he found the boy’s eyes open, watching him. Credence held no expression. It didn’t even look like he comprehended who Gellert was. 

Gellert smiled and with a blink of his eyes, a more familiar face fell over his features, sweeping his untamed blond hair into jets of black, reshaping his nose and mouth, and growing the faintest hint of stubble. He blinked down at the boy, whose eyes widened in dawning recognition. The transformation back into obscurial form must have sent Credence into a daze. Or maybe it was simply the intensity of the pain and the strangeness of a face he didn’t recognise. 

“There you are.” Gellert couldn’t resist drawing a finger down the boy’s nose, so delicate now. All of him was, really. Credence had been young already, his skin mostly unmarred with the first signs of age if not his mother’s punishments, but this was something else. Gellert had forgotten just how unblemished, how soft, how _untouched_ children could be. He realised he hadn’t stopped smiling when Credence’s newly small features turned into a scowl. Gellert was not prepared for the strength of the boy’s voice when he shouted, either. 

“Let go of me!” Credence pushed at his chest and thrashed when Gellert didn’t let him go. They wound up in a tousle on the floor of the living room, bumping into the coffee table and sending a glass bowl crashing to the floor. Lemon drops scattered beneath them as Credence flailed and Gellert flattened one of the boy’s arms down to his chest with his own, locking the boy against him, but unable to stop the fervour of his writhing. Credence’s protests descended into screeching cries, and Gellert feared he would dissolve again into the obscurus at any moment. 

“ _Stop it!_ ” Gellert shouted, interrupting the boy’s screaming only in volume. Credence wouldn’t listen. Gellert had half a mind to slap the boy again, but didn’t. It was a near thing. He managed to catch the boy’s other wrist and force it down to be trapped against his chest like the first. Credence struggled, thrashing as much as he could with his shoulders, but Gellert’s hold didn’t break and Credence was soon trapped again in his lap, back pressed to Gellert’s chest and the blanket fallen mostly away. It was too much to expect the boy’s clothes to have survived all of that, but Gellert ignored his nudity for the moment. He softened his voice and pressed his mouth to Credence’s ear, hoping to derail his single-minded desire to break free. “I am not going to hurt you, Credence.” 

Credence made a defiant, high pitched noise from the back of his throat. It sounded like the growl of a small animal. He twisted his body, trying to writhe out of Gellert’s grip, but it was useless. “I hate you,” Credence hissed. 

“Come now,” Gellert chided, but his tone was calming and lacked amusement. “I said you would get your chance at revenge. Just not so soon.” 

Credence sniffled and his small body remained rigid, but his thrashing stopped. His lip was trembling, but Gellert could tell it was as much from fury as it was from all the uncertainty the boy was surely facing. 

“How much do you remember?” Gellert asked. He was content to wait like that for as long as it took. Credence was no stranger to punishment. Nor was he stranger to his will being quietly overtaken by another’s, crushed down until it was hidden inside him, unseen and unheard, but still very much alive. This was familiar, at least. 

At first, the boy didn’t answer. Gellert sensed a petty rebelliousness in his mind, as though Credence really were a child. His chest was still heaving from their tousle and his pent up emotion, and anger roiled under his skin like the inky wisps of the obscurus, but Credence remained tight lipped and defiant. He refused to even look at Gellert when the man leaned over his shoulder and sought eye contact. 

“I won’t ask you again, Credence,” Gellert said, quiet but not gentle any longer. He removed one of his arms from around the boy’s torso, but made sure to keep Credence pinned still, and curled his fingers in Credence’s hair. He didn’t pull. He didn’t do anything but let the threat of further restraint rest there, but still the boy refused to speak. “Credence.”

“ _Everything_.” Credence spat the word. He’d wanted to say it though, Gellert could feel it in his mind as much as he could hear it in his tone. Credence wanted to rail at him, not hold it in any longer. “You said you’d help me. You said you were my _friend_.” His voice broke. He sounded just like he had back in New York, except this time the voice crying at Gellert came out of a child’s body. 

Gellert pressed his head to Credence’s and rocked gently, shushing him again. “I know. I know I did,” he kept his tone soft and even. “I was wrong to lie to you, and I was wrong to cast you away. Credence, I was wrong about everything about you.” He turned his head to stare, imploring the boy to meet his gaze, but Credence’s face broke into a mask of pain. 

The boy tried to jerk himself free again and fresh tears fell from his eyes. He didn’t try to hold back his sobbing and Gellert sighed, restraining him again and then petting Credence’s hair as the boy gave up. He waited and held Credence, no longer rocking him, just sitting there in the emptiness of the living room, their dinner growing cold somewhere in the kitchen, and not knowing when the boy would stop. 

Eventually, when Credence had gotten through the worst of it, Gellert loosened his hold enough to wrap him up in the blanket again. Then he lifted Credence into his arms and took him to the couch, laying him down to rest. The fight had gone out of the boy for the moment, and he stayed where he was put, still hiccupping quiet sobs whenever a swell of hurt caught him off guard. 

Gellert sat there with him until he deemed Credence calm enough not to do anything foolish, and then he stood to fetch the stew. 

When he returned, Credence was right where he’d left him, curled up on the couch, on his side, with the blanket tight around his shoulders, not even a toe peeking out. Gellert laid the reheated bowls down on the coffee table for both of them and settled in a leather armchair across from the boy before taking his. 

Credence seemed to take no interest. 

“You should eat if you can,” Gellert said to no response. “Do you know how tired you’re feeling now? You’ve depleted your energy, and you didn’t have much to begin with. You’ll need it to get your strength back, and that includes your magic.”

“I’m not here for _you_ ,” Credence hissed, nearly too quiet to be heard, and once again Gellert marvelled at how much like a real child he sounded. 

The boy sniffled and Gellert shrugged, focusing back on his own stew. It was a thick and creamy steak and potato, and it permeated the air with a pleasant aroma, one Credence surely noticed. Gellert knew he was hungry. His body was whole again, if smaller. There had been no residual injuries left after his magic helped the obscurial reform himself, just the raw pain of the process. Even the boy’s face scrunched up in a scowl. His mind was a whirl of activity, trying to hold back all the things that wanted to burst from him—questions, anger, anything—but Credence’s mind was also heavy with tiredness. 

“What did you do to me?” Credence finally whispered when Gellert was spooning the last of the stew from his bowl. 

“I saved your life. Or your human life, anyway.” Gellert licked his lips and set the empty bowl back down on the table. He watched Credence. The boy was looking at his own hands. Credence hadn’t seen a mirror yet, but it was pretty clear what had happened. Gellert sighed. “You won’t be able to regain your usual form until you’re healed and whole again. Magically.” Credence’s eyes turned to him, and Gellert could feel the way the boy was scared, the way he instinctively sought guidance, even if it was from the man who’d betrayed him. Gellert was his only source of knowledge in this. 

“You’re not like most wizards, Credence.” Gellert rose from his chair and went to the couch. Credence shifted away from him, but didn’t protest any further before he sat down. “Most wizards have magic innate to themselves, their body and their consciousness. It can be suppressed through various means, but that is usually separate from actions against their physical form. One kind of pain can have consequences for the other, and so on, but you…. Your body, and your magic, are so entwined with the obscurus living inside you, that it seems they have become almost one. You are closer to pure magic than any of us are.” 

Gellert reached out and stroked a hand over Credence’s hair. The boy’s eyes glazed over, clearly trying to envision himself as Gellert described, but he cringed at the touch. Gellert ignored it. “Come. Eat something. Just a little,” he said. “And then you can rest. We’ll draw you a bath and get you some clothes. What do you say?” 

Credence sniffed again. It was clear he wasn’t about to be taken in by such simple niceties, but he did raise himself up enough to sit properly and he took the bowl of stew when Gellert handed it to him. Gellert massaged his shoulder in a silent thank you, and found the boy’s skin to be even softer than it looked. He draped his arm over the back of the couch and let Credence eat, slowly and quietly. 

He’d been right, Credence was hungry. The boy didn’t put down his bowl, but after a while, Gellert felt the prickle of Credence’s thoughts turning to him. Legilimency without direct focus usually provided him impressions of the minds around him, and Credence was no different. The boy gave no outward indication of it, but he was trying to measure up the man at his side. 

“You’re not really Mr. Graves, are you?” Credence finally spoke. 

A smile twitched at Gellert’s mouth. “No.” He thought about removing the illusion again, but he could feel the echo of a clench inside Credence’s chest at the confirmation and decided against it. “But you can call me that if you like.” 

“Where’s the real—” 

“Not here,” Gellert interrupted him. Credence flinched, but it was reactionary, not out of real fear. Frustration roiled off the boy at his own reaction, but Gellert still wasn’t about to let this train of thought take hold in Credence. “You never knew him. He isn’t even aware of your existence. It was always me.” 

The boy scowled, but Gellert was not going to let Credence latch onto another man for hope. Credence had always, _always_ been alone in the world, and that was the best leverage Gellert had. Credence set down his bowl, only a little of the stew remaining, and curled his arms around himself. He looked lost, and so far he hadn’t turned back into his obscurus form. The boy had to be unsure why, especially considering how much he’d fought against Gellert upon waking in his living room. Gellert suspected it was a combination of instinct and the boy being too weak. He’d only just regained human form and on a very deep level he was probably terrified of losing it again. 

Gellert rose from the couch. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can rest. Tomorrow, we’ll assess how you’re doing.” He ignored Credence’s defiant silence and went to fill the bathtub. 

When he returned, Credence hadn’t moved, but he caught the boy looking around the room. Curiosity threaded through Credence’s mind. He had no idea where they were, Gellert realised. Credence must not have picked up on everything he’d said in obscurus form after all, although whether that was due to the obscurus not caring about the details in its highly emotional state of mind, or his overall weakened state, Gellert could not guess. It would be fascinating to find the limits of such a creature, someday. 

Gellert crossed the room, clapping his hands together. “Up now. Trust me, you’ll feel better.” 

Credence’s scowl returned, but he did rise to his feet with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked at Gellert’s outstretched hands, waiting for the boy to come to him, and conflicting emotions filled his head. Gellert waited, and it paid off. Credence went to him and let him lead the boy to the bathroom, already filled with a warm humidity in the air and the pleasant smell of pine soap. 

Credence shivered as Gellert lifted the blanket from him and tossed it aside. It had been trailing on the floor behind him, more than double the size he was now. He glanced up Credence’s short frame, but the boy looked away before their eyes could meet and Gellert wasn’t sure if Credence saw the smile he wore. 

Nevertheless, he took Credence’s hand and helped him into the tub. It was big, fit for a man with plenty of room besides, and Credence needed to use a step Gellert had conjured. Credence winced as he climbed in. Apparently he’d only just noticed how sore his limbs were from the transformation. Carefully, he sat down in the tub, the water coming to his midsection, and Gellert saw him slowly, visibly relax. Goosebumps raised across the boy’s flesh before Gellert let go of his hand. Credence sunk down farther, letting the water come up to his chin and his eyes fluttered, nearly closing. 

He wanted to let them, Gellert could tell, but Credence wouldn’t. Not while he was still there. Gellert didn’t mention how rare it must have been for the boy to have a hot bath. Mary Lou had kept her children clean, but it was never a luxury. Icy buckets and a washcloth was all Credence had likely known. 

Gellert reached for a sponge from a rack of soaps and bottles and dipped it into the water. He then took Credence’s hand again and ran the sponge up his arm. Credence watched without expression as he did the same to the other, then had the boy sit up so Gellert could reach his back. When he finished, he handed Credence the sponge. “You get the rest. There’s shampoo and conditioner for your hair and a towel on the rack. I’ll see if I can find you some clothes.” 

Credence didn’t express much reaction, but he nodded. That would have to do. Gellert climbed to his feet and took one last look at the boy turning the sponge over in his hands before dipping it in the water again and running it over his chest, and then turned for the door. He closed it behind himself, although there was really no reason except for assurance that Credence would be alone for a little while. Gellert intended to let the boy come out when he was ready. Just so long as that wasn’t too long. 

He went to his room and pulled out some extra linens. With a bit of transfiguration, he had a simple set of clothes that would fit Credence, along with a nightshirt. When he finished, he moved to the writing desk and began to prepare the letters he’d need to send off now that he’d returned. His own face caught his eye in the dresser mirror before he sat down and it gave him pause. The strange thing was that he was not unused to it. He had been more unused to his own face over the last few days or so. Not so unusual, having spent months as Percival Graves and only returning to himself when he was alone at the end of the day. He shrugged out of it, dropping the charade like water from his skin, glanced at himself and found a paler reflection staring back at him, and then sat down to his letters. 

By the time he’d finished and returned to the living room with the boy’s newly made clothes under his arm, the door to the toilet was still shut and there was nothing to suggest Credence had set foot outside it. Gellert sighed and lifted his hand to the door and paused. He sighed again and with a shrug of his shoulders and a twist of his neck, once more wore the face of Percival Graves. He knocked, but no answer came, so he turned the handle and opened the door. 

The splash of water met his ears before he saw Credence pull his legs to his chest, still sitting in the tub, and lock eyes with Gellert. Gellert shook his head. “You should get out when the water turns cold. You’re probably a prune by now, aren’t you?” Credence looked away, but that didn’t stop Gellert from stepping inside and taking the towel from its rack to hold out to Credence. He raised his brows, and finally Credence took the pointed gesture and stood up to take it. Water dripped from his body, and just as Gellert thought, the boy’s posture suggested he was cold as he dried himself. 

Gellert handed him the nightgown next and Credence took it without question. The boy seemed numb, but Gellert supposed that was preferable to outright hostility. He hadn’t been lying when he told Credence he would need to rest. The boy tugged the long shirt over his head and glanced up at Gellert, not knowing what to make of the silence in such a strange situation. 

“I keep a second bedroom here that you can use,” Gellert said, relieving Credence of the awkwardness and leading him back into the hall. 

The second bedroom was not a bedroom at all. Not yet. Credence looked around at the rows of books piled into shelves covering the walls with a wary curve in his brow. Gellert patted his shoulder and moved around the boy, his wand out, and soon the expansive desk with its piles of papers and maps as well as the magical artefacts littered around the room lifted themselves up and rushed together all at once, shrinking and folding together as though they’d been caught in the gravity of a star until nothing more than a tiny glass marble sat at the centre of the polished wooden floor. Gellert snatched it up and glanced back at the boy, who this time could not hide his fascination. Gellert smiled and then turned to the room again, transfiguring a bed from a few of the chairs he’d left behind. Credence had to move out of the way as new linens and blankets from the other room came floating in to cover it. When it was finished, the only thing Gellert left behind were the bookshelves and he placed Credence’s new clothes there for the morning. If Credence had any interest in looking through the books, the boy was more than welcome. The thought of it even delighted Gellert a little. 

Warily, Credence glanced around the room and then looked from the bed to Gellert. 

“Go on. I’ll leave you to sleep as long as you need to.” Gellert nodded to the bed. 

Credence gave him another cautious look, but moved to its side. Gellert offered a hand and helped him climb up—the bed was adult-sized and bigger even than the one Credence had at the church—but Credence didn’t look at him when they touched. Gellert didn’t let that stop him from tucking the boy in, however. He sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled the covers up to Credence’s chest, but Credence turned away from him and stared at the wall. 

Gellert didn’t let anything but a gentle calm colour his tone when he spoke. “Goodnight, Credence. Don’t be shy to find me when you wake.” He reached out and rubbed the boy’s arm and that time Credence didn’t pull away before he rose to his feet again and went to the door. Credence didn’t move when Gellert paused, knowing that he was watching. All he could see of the boy was a lump under the covers and a tuft of black hair staring at the wall. 

Gellert smiled to himself and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

An unfamiliar ceiling met Credence when he opened his eyes. There were swirls in the texture and he followed them without thinking about it, one after another after another. They felt like waves, and he might as well have been suspended on the ocean for how weightless and comfortable he felt. Until his thoughts began to catch up with him and he wondered why the ceiling looked like this. He’d only ever seen such patterns in very fancy buildings, places he’d rarely been invited to. 

Little by little, it began to come back to him, how he was no longer in America, how he’d followed Mr. Graves, even when the man had changed his face. He remembered Mr. Graves’ words with only the vaguest sense of actually hearing them, as though they’d come from a dream, but he knew the man had invited him here, had told him that he could help Credence when—oh. When Credence had been nothing. When he’d not been a person anymore. Just immaterial weightlessness that could touch people and things in the real world, but only barely. Mr. Graves had said he’d float along like that forever if Credence didn’t accept his help. The most terrible thing was that Credence believed him. 

Credence closed his eyes, fighting the way his breath grew heavy with the fear and despair that had consumed him then. Credence _still_ believed him. He knew he would have been in that state forever if Mr. Graves hadn’t helped him, and the thought of it was terrifying. And that was when Credence looked down at himself, at his new hands and new legs, much shorter under the thick covers than he remembered them being in a very long time. His hands were smooth, fingers still thin, but with no trace of the way his knuckles and tendons and veins had become more noticeable over the past several years. 

Credence felt at his face. He hadn’t cared to look in the mirror yesterday, or, perhaps not quite yesterday. There was a window in his room and it was still very dark outside. He wondered how long he’d slept and if it was morning before he sat up and looked for something that would show him his reflection. There were no mirrors. The room was practically empty after Mr. Graves had cleared it, but there was one bookcase with glass panel doors. 

Carefully, quietly, Credence slipped out of bed. The floor was chilly on his bare feet. It was a surprise because the air wasn’t cold. He’d just forgot he was sleeping in only a shirt when he was used to bundling up as much as possible for bed. As soon as he was standing, he realised just how short he was compared to the bed and the handle on the door. He’d known it when he looked at his legs in bed, but he still couldn’t hold back the quiet sense of shock. He gave himself a moment to breathe and then crept to the cabinet and reached out for the handle, pulling as gently as he could not to make a sound as he opened it. He could only make out a vague outline of himself from that angle, so he had to open it far enough for the low street lamps from the window to shine against it. 

Very quickly a boy’s face Credence barely remembered came into view. The boy’s eyes widened with shock. His lips parted, and when Credence touched his fingertips to them, the reflection did so as well. If he’d needed a moment after getting out of bed, he needed several now. Credence searched his own face, unable to shake the unease from his eyes, but he did his best. The angles of his face weren’t as sharp now. His shoulders weren’t nearly as wide. There was a quality to his features that could only be described as soft. It had something to do with the texture of his skin and the plushness underneath it. His lips and nose still held their shape, but he found they were affected by that same quality. His hair remained the same, cut into the only style Mary Lou had approved of for boys, even ones she didn’t want to admit had grown up. 

Credence spent a long time looking at himself and trying to take it in. His world had been turned upside down. There was a pain inside him, a hollowness, that hadn’t been there before. Not in the same way. He’d always been lacking before while he watched ordinary people in their ordinary lives, always warring between wanting and wanting not to want things. He’d learned to shut himself down so well at times and then other times he could barely stand it, how much he resented the things he could never do and never have. This feeling was slightly different. It felt like something had been ripped from him, and now on top of that, he was going to be stuck like this. He’d been trapped in his life under his mother’s rule before, now he was free of her but under a new man’s guard and stuck in a form that would be entirely dependent on…he didn’t know. Even if he took his revenge on Mr. Graves like he’d gotten rid of his mother, he didn’t know what he could do looking like this. He had no idea how he was going to spend another decade with the limitations of a child. 

Mr. Graves had done this to him with magic. The reflection’s slim brows furrowed as Credence remembered the man explaining why. Credence wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe him, but he hadn’t been able to change back on his own. He remembered that clearly. His reflection bit his lip as Credence wondered if he could try again. And if he couldn’t, then maybe it would just take time…as Mr. Graves had said. The thought of becoming nothingness again was terrifying though. 

Before the wizards back in New York had done what they had to him, he’d finally embraced it. He’d been able to harness his anger, just enough, to control what it did and where it took him. He’d been so afraid before he stopped caring, before he decided that making Mr. Graves pay was worth it even if he didn’t know what was happening and even if he did do terrible things that he could barely remember. Credence had wanted to do terrible things. The reflection’s eyes met his own in the glass. They looked darker this way, but they didn’t look very cruel. Whenever Credence did see himself in a reflection, he’d never thought his face looked very cruel. It was amazing what a face could hide. If he was honest with himself, he might be out of his depth now, he might have no idea how to get back to New York, but he wasn’t so sure he was done doing those terrible things. 

As gently as he’d opened the glass pane, Credence closed it. He went to the window and looked out. He hadn’t before he’d fallen asleep, not with Mr. Graves right there watching him, but all he found was a deserted street below, interrupted by darkness between the lamps spaced evenly along the road, heading far away from the building. The street didn’t look the same as in New York, and maybe it was Credence’s imagination, but the air seemed different, too. When he decided he wasn’t going to learn anything more from the view, Credence took another look around the room and then climbed back into bed. 

He couldn’t shake his tiredness, and as much as he wanted to escape, he knew he had nowhere to go and no way of knowing if Mr. Graves would be able to find him again. He had to believe that the man couldn’t, not even with magic. Mr. Graves might tell him otherwise, but he decided he had to hold onto that belief until it was proven wrong. Mr. Graves had lied to him enough already. 

Credence laid awake in bed with that turning in his head for a long time. Memories of his mother, of the church, of Chastity and Modesty, assaulted him whenever he let his guard down long enough, and sometimes even when he tried his best not to. He was a whirlwind of indecision, of uncertainty and loss and pain and yet all he could do was lay in the bed Mr. Graves had made for him, motionless and…helpless. 

He hated feeling helpless. Hated it more than he could describe. But here he was stuck with it again, and just like when he’d lived under Mary Lou’s rule, his mind began picking away at his options until his insides felt hollow. He turned on his side and it didn’t help, so he turned on his other side and that didn’t help either. Briefly, he thought about going to find Mr. Graves just because he couldn’t stand this much uncertainty anymore, but the thought of waking the man was equally unbearable. Credence wanted to scream. 

The wetness of his tears hit his clenched fists, held together in front of him like a mockery of prayer. No God had saved him before, or ever, and that thought was almost as painful as the thought of never seeing Modesty and never going home again. …but Credence hadn’t needed God in the end. He’d become one. 

Slowly, his breathing grew steadier. His tears dried up, and Credence was left with the hollowness again. He held onto that thought, that for once he’d been able to lash out, and that was better than nothing. That was better than the helplessness he feared. He might not have been as strong as he was before, but he’d been able to fight back once and Credence would do it again. 

He focused on that, deliberately pushing other thoughts away when they invaded his mind, over and over again until sleep overtook him.

* * *

When Credence woke again, the sun was shining through his window. He blinked and rubbed the crust of tears and sleep from his eyes, but didn’t move right away. He remembered where he was this time. He remembered waking in the middle of the night, not knowing what to do or how to feel, but those emotions seemed further away now. He was warm and comfortable, and even though there was still a distant pain deep in his chest, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a comfortable bed. Possibly never, he slowly realised. The closest thing he could remember was a worn out couch in the rooms kept by the news boys down the street. It hadn’t been much to look at, but Credence had relaxed there a few times when one of the kids had been friendly to him. 

That friendship hadn’t lasted long. Mary Lou turned her nose up at those orphan children—they had papers to sell instead of her leaflets—and they had been quick to shun him when they found out he was part of the church. 

Credence sighed and pushed those thoughts away as he’d done the previous night. He wished he had some happier ones. Most people probably had happier thoughts, but all he had was…. He cast his mind back, searching for something. He would have said Mr. Graves, but that was a whole new kind of hurt. 

Credence swallowed. Mr. Graves had been his only friend in a long time. A very long time. He had Chastity and Modesty, but he couldn’t have called them friends. Chastity had made herself Mary Lou’s favourite, and she had been growing more and more like their mother every day. Credence had always liked Modesty, and maybe it was simply because when Modesty arrived, she hadn’t already been taught how to think like Mary Lou. But it wasn’t long before she would have, and Credence knew it, too. When she’d started singing those songs…. He hated those songs, and yet she still played by herself and made up stories Mary Lou would never have approved of if she’d known. Credence remembered the toy wand and shied away from the rest. 

Mr. Graves though…he’d been different. He’d been there only for Credence. Had started coming around after that woman, Tina, had tried to help him…. He hadn’t been real, Credence knew now, but he missed the man as though he was. He missed the way Mr. Graves was kind to him, would touch him and look at him, really _look_ at him, and make sure Credence heard him and felt better at the same time. It hurt to think about now, but Credence wished it hadn’t been a lie. 

Mr. Graves might have been nice to him yesterday, but it was different. Everything he said was coloured in an awful honesty after so much deception, and Credence didn’t trust him anymore. 

The swirls on the ceiling blurred. Credence wiped at his eyes and rolled over, catching sight of the door. It was still closed and hopefully not locked. Mr. Graves had said he could come out when he felt like it…. 

With a sigh, Credence sat up. He still felt tired, but it was that groggy sort of tired that came from a long period of stress and maybe more if what had happened to him in his other state had taken a toll on him, but Credence didn’t think he could get back to sleep. Not with so much uncertainty. 

He drew back the covers and climbed down from the bed, going to the clothes Mr. Graves had left for him, folded on one of the bookcases, and slowly getting dressed. Everything fit right, and they were better clothes than he used to have. Dark trousers and a shirt softer than he’d ever worn before, braces instead of a belt, and a waistcoat to keep him warmer. 

Credence still felt clean from the bath he’d taken the night before, but even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go out there in just a nightshirt. Mr. Graves pressing him close between an alley wall and the man’s own body flashed across Credence’s memory and he nearly flushed before he remembered what he looked like now. In spite of the way Mr. Graves had acted before, Credence had had a hard time believing the man could possibly feel…anything for him. Not the same feeling deep in Credence’s lower belly whenever they came close, at least. And if he’d thought that before, the man definitely wouldn’t feel anything for him now. Not that it all hadn’t been a ruse in the first place. 

Credence was sure he was flushing now, but this time it was with shame. Graves had known all along what he’d been doing, how he’d been making Credence feel. It was all just to use him. Graves must have been disgusted with him. Graves _had_ been disgusted with him, Credence had heard it in his voice that night, when he’d called him a name he didn’t remember. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what it was, that tone and the context told him everything. 

At the end of it all, Credence wasn’t so sure who he hated more—Mr. Graves or himself. 

He shored up what reserves he had, which wasn’t much, and went to the door. Turning the handle, he found that it was, indeed, unlocked. It swung open without the squeak of hinges Credence was used to, and he stepped out into the hall. He was met with silence. 

Credence swallowed. Sunlight filtered into the living room and beyond in the kitchen, but he couldn’t see anyone else about, not even Mr. Graves as he went from one room to the next, looking for him. 

He found the door to what must have been Mr. Graves’ bedroom locked. It was the only room in the flat that was, and Credence decided he shouldn’t have been surprised. He went back to the living room and stood there for a while. Everything looked so pristine, from the white fabric and deep, nearly black wood of the furniture, to the glass lamps on the wall cut into shining geometric patterns that reminded Credence of New York. The whole apartment had that atmosphere about it, like he was back in a smaller, homier version of the decor when he’d gone to Shaw News—not ostentatious like some of the night life Credence had glimpsed or seen posters of, just…elegant. 

It made Credence not want to sit on the furniture. So he went to the window instead and found the other side of the street laid below. There were people out now, and the city looked much more welcoming in the light and activity. Credence wasn’t sure if this was the centre of the city or not, as he didn’t know how big Berlin was, but they were well inside it. When he looked to the horizon, he saw a great many grand buildings of stone with intricate facades, but nothing like the skyline of New York. 

When he turned back, a folded piece of paper on the coffee table caught his eye. It stood up on both ends with a crease in the middle, like a card waiting for someone. It took him a minute to realise it might have been left there for him, and so, carefully, he picked it up and opened it. 

He found a sharp, cursive script, small and neat, with his name followed by news that Mr. Graves would be out for several hours and if he awoke before then, he should heat some leftover stew for himself and wait. There were instructions not to leave, and a warning that Credence wouldn’t be able to if he tried. Mr. Graves signed his name “Gellert”. 

Credence set the note back down on the coffee table, wondering what to make of this. Flashes of the day prior came back to him—pale hair and cold eyes cast over an even colder expression as Credence had followed the man, unseen—but they were all hard to grasp. He’d only recently begun to remember things he’d done in that other state, and it was still a little difficult. 

He glanced to the window again and thought about trying to get out, regardless of what the note said. So what if he looked like a child. He could survive, somehow. He could get stronger and then come back…. Already it seemed like a hollow dream. And Credence was still bone tired. 

He went to the kitchen and looked around for a pot left on the stove, but found none. There was a large pantry in the corner, however, and when Credence opened it, he found shelves full of lush vegetables, fresh fruits, and the sweetest scented bread he’d ever smelled. There appeared to be nothing keeping any of it preserved, but that couldn’t possibly have been the case unless Mr. Graves had gone shopping that morning. Credence didn’t think the stew would be kept there, but he was so curious that he looked through the assortment anyway. To his surprise, when he opened a second cabinet, he found it was ice cold and inside laid shelves of frozen meat. It didn’t look like any refrigerator he’d ever seen, not that he’d seen many, and there seemed to be no power source. After that, Credence closed the pantry quickly, feeling like he’d been looking through things he maybe shouldn’t have been. Which was stupid. It was a pantry, and it wasn’t like he didn’t want to do worse to Mr. Graves. 

He turned back to the kitchen and, there on the stove where it surely hadn’t been before, was a pot. Credence froze. He looked around, but found nothing else amiss. Just the pot. He glanced into the living room and the hall, but neither heard nor saw anything, so he turned back and, with care as much due to his stature as well as its uncertain origin, lifted the pot by its handle. He found more than enough stew inside for one serving, the same stew he’d had the day before, so he put it back on the stove and set it to a medium simmer. 

Credence found it frustrating not to have his height anymore. He had to reach for everything he did now, and that combined with the coil of uncertainty in his stomach about the appearance of the pot left him feeling unwell. He knew he should eat, however, and he was hungry for it still. 

Half of him wished for Mr. Graves to come back just to take him out of this uncertainty. 

He waited for the stew to come to a boil, lingering at the doorway until it was ready. Once he’d poured himself a bowl, he left the rest on the stove top. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, and though he didn’t want to leave it there when Mr. Graves came back, he thought he might still be hungry enough for a second bowl. 

He took his bowl to a small dining table placed in front of the window between the kitchen and living room and once again found himself shorter than he expected. It was just uncomfortable enough to add to his frustrations as he ate, but Credence did his best to ignore those feelings. 

When he was finished, he brought the bowl back to the kitchen, intending to fill it again, and got another shock. There, reaching up for the steaming pot, was a small creature. It turned when Credence gasped, and he was met with wide eyes, too big and a face too sharp and shoulders, legs, arms, too small and bony to be human. 

The bowl in Credence’s hands shattered on the floor and he jumped again, stumbling back as the creature raised its hands in a gesture he vaguely recognised. He managed to stop when it appeared not to be coming any closer, and after a tense moment, Credence began to notice certain details in its bearing. It’s eyes were big and caught the light in a way that didn’t seem as threatening as he’d first thought, and its hair was done up in loose, dark curls. It wore a light yellow dress of some sort, ill-fitting but clean. If Credence wasn’t mistaken, it almost looked like a woman. A young woman, except its face was much too inhuman for that to be possible and there were large, pointed ears sprouting from either side of its head. 

“Mr. Credence must not be alarmed,” the little creature squeaked, and Credence could feel his eyes growing even wider. It—she—sounded like what he might imagine a mouse to sound like, but her tone was kind if shrill. 

All at once Credence felt unsure of himself all over again. She was talking to him like she expected a reasonable response and he had no idea what she was. He was half afraid she would open her mouth and reveal a dozen little fangs, but her politeness had him disconcerted. “W-who are you?” was all he could manage. 

“My name is Gwendoline, sir,” she said and lowered herself into a curtsy. “Master has warned me you would be waking and wanting the stew. Gwendoline did not mean to startle you, sir.” 

All Credence could do was stare. “You work for Mr. Graves?” He could feel his heart against his chest, still beating wildly. He was starting to think this creature might not be a threat after all, but it was hard to tell his instincts that. 

“No, sir,” Gwendoline said in that same high, kind of sweet if Credence could just let himself calm down enough to think about it, tone. “My master is Mr. Grindelwald, sir.” She gave another curtsy while saying the name as though there was some formality in just speaking it. When she looked back up at Credence, she seemed to expect him to understand, but he only continued to stare. 

“Your…master?” was all Credence could manage, a little worried at the implications of that word. Was she a servant? Was that what Mr. Graves, or Grindelwald, expected him to be now, too? 

“Gwendoline is a house elf, sir,” she said with a soothing emphasis in her tone. “Master said you might not understand, but that is okay. Gwendoline can still help.” She smiled calmly, clasping her hands together in front of her pillowcase. 

Credence thought she meant to look pleasant and reassuring, but he could see the tension in her bearing still. It struck him then that she might be afraid of him. Definitely nervous. Or maybe she was afraid of her master. Credence could recognize those signs anywhere. There were those who carried the fear of someone else’s anger on their shoulders and there were those who didn’t, and Credence could always tell no matter how good they were at hiding it. Even Chastity carried that weight, no matter how much she tried to insist that she took on their cause willingly. 

Credence looked down at the pieces of the shattered bowl and a new sense of guilt hit his stomach. “I’m sorry I…. I’ll clean this up.” He bent to pick up the pieces, carefully dropping them one by one in his palm, but Gwendoline shook her head. 

“No need for that, sir.” She lifted a hand and pointed her finger at the mess in the daintiest motion Credence had ever seen come from something that wasn’t a human girl, and with a flick of her wrist the shattered ceramic lifted into the air and began to reform the bowl. Credence felt the pieces in his grip tugging to get free, and, startled, he released them. Once the bowl was mended, it floated back down to Credence’s hands, and he didn’t know what else to do besides take it. There were no cracks in its surface. The whole thing was as seamless as it had been when he’d first picked it up. 

“You can do magic, too?” Credence breathed, looking at Gwendoline in a whole new light. 

She beamed. For a moment she sloughed off that weight on her shoulders and she smiled at him so wide that he might have paid her the best compliment she’d ever received. Or maybe he really seemed like the child he looked. “Yes, sir. All house elves can perform most basic spells. We have magic of our own.” 

Her smile was contagious, and for once Credence felt like it was okay to return it. She didn’t look so weird when she smiled like that, he thought. He even felt like a little bit of the weight over him lifted when he could smile, too. “What else can you do? Can you show me?” He couldn’t help asking. He’d wanted to know about magic for so long and Mr. Graves had only given him bits and pieces. He’d promised Credence a lot of things that were never supposed to come to pass. Credence had thought he’d accepted that, but now here magic was again, right in front of him, and he couldn’t hold back that spark of excitement. 

Gwendoline blushed. “I can show you a little if you’d like. House elf magic is not always the same as the magic of our masters, but Gwendoline would be happy to do some magic for you, sir.” With a nod to the bowl in Credence’s hands, it rose back into the air and flew to the sink. With a wave of Gwendoline’s hands, the water turned on and a brush began to scrub it before it lifted again to be dried by a towel and then stowed away into the cupboard. “Is there anything else Mr. Credence would like for lunch?” she asked, ready to demonstrate more. 

“I…I’m not sure,” Credence admitted. He was still hungry, though not as much as he’d been before, but the note had only mentioned that he could have the stew. Once again Credence’s sense of propriety fought with his anger at Mr. Graves. “Is there anything else I can have?” he asked instead. 

Gwendoline cocked her head in thought. It didn’t seem she was used to wizards asking her permission for anything, but after a while, she had an idea. “Why don’t I make you some sweets! Do you like sweets? Muffins? Tarts? Chocolates? Master said that you should enjoy your stay with us.” 

Disbelief was Credence’s first reaction, followed quickly by guilt at the notion of Mr. Graves saying something like that, and then the frustration of having to fight it all down again, reminding himself that Mr. Graves could throw around kindness without real care. He thought about it for a long moment. The idea of indulging in something not merely out of necessity of hunger was another ingrained sore spot with him. But Gwendoline was looking on hopefully, and Credence had fought free of his mother’s teachings. He could do what he wanted now, and that meant he could have sweets. 

He nodded. “Okay. I’d like that.” 

Gwendoline’s blinding smile was back in place. Credence was happy to note that although her teeth weren’t straight by any means, she didn’t have rows of fangs, and anyway it greatly improved the atmosphere of the kitchen as she opened the pantry and set to work, ingredients flying into the air, warming and cooling before Credence’s very eyes in a captivating dance. Gwendoline even hummed while she worked, and for the first time since arriving, Credence forgot that he was essentially a prisoner in Mr. Graves’ flat.

* * *

It took twelve hours after Percival woke for him to receive any real news on what had happened. Or so he dazedly remembered the nurse informing him once he’d awoken. She’d said something about the potions needing to wear off, that the slumber they’d found him in had been deep and very difficult to bring him out of, and that he’d still feel groggy for a few days yet to come. Or maybe he was imagining that conversation altogether based on his own assumptions on how he’d gotten to the hospital and his vague memories of the young nurse on staff looking so relieved and so worried at the same time when she’d noticed him waking. 

He assumed something like that must have happened, though, because she’d checked him over and then let him be with a glass of water and a tray with eggs and toast that he wasn’t remotely interested in eating, even if his stomach did start to feel empty by midday. He didn’t attempt to fight his thirst, however, and the glass replenished itself no matter how much he drank. He noticed that was around the time he felt himself coming out of the fog. 

Little by little, Percival could focus longer, remember the past few days better, and start to wonder when he would hear news of what had happened. 

When the nurse finally returned to check on him again, she looked a lot more relieved than nervous the moment she laid eyes on him. 

“You’re looking better,” she said, waving her wand over him while the quill on the clipboard scribbled notes at her side. She apparently didn’t need any spells to tell her that. 

Percival grunted. “Feeling better.” His voice wasn’t as raspy as he’d feared, but he still didn’t sound quite like himself. “How long was I out?” If she’d told him before, he couldn’t remember. He worried that it had been too long, that the spell Grindelwald had put him under had reached its limits to sustain him while days passed. He had a lot of questions that he was sure she wasn’t very well equipped to answer. 

“Five days, we believe.” She lowered her wand and looked over the notes, marking some by hand and then releasing the leaf of paper for it to fold up and fly away through a vent in the door before hanging up the clipboard. “It can be hard to tell. The spell that was keeping you unconscious was also keeping you sustained. How much do you remember?”

Percival shook his head, not wanting to recount details of Grindelwald to some nurse he didn’t know. “That’s what it was supposed to do,” he confirmed, “but I don’t think it was expected that I’d be under for that long and I couldn’t tell you what day it was when I was last awake.” He set his mouth into a frown and didn’t shy away from her gaze, which had the expected effect of making her turn away first. 

“Well. The healer will be in to talk to you soon, and I can tell you that you’re looking good. They’ll probably want to keep you a little longer for observation, but I expect you’ll be allowed visitors if you feel up to it. You’ve had several.” She smiled, but Percival could already guess who and he did not return the comfort. “I’ll let the healer know you’re ready.” 

“Good.” It came out more of a grunt than a word, and she nodded and hurried off, no doubt sensing the turn in his mood. He knew he should be grateful to see anyone, even Seraphina’s delegates or whoever she sent to check on him. Even if she came herself, which he doubted. He couldn’t feel the wards around this room, but it didn’t escape his attention that he was the only patient in a room with beds for five. It had to be a precaution, at best. At worst, they were wondering about his loyalties and feared he could be a threat to anyone they sent. So he was left to wait. 

The healer who finally arrived was a head shorter than the nurse and about three times her age, bearing puffy white hair and a quick step and none of the nervousness she had displayed at approaching him the first time. “Mr. Graves, feeling better at last, I see.” He pulled up a chair beside Percival’s bed, which actually improved his height. “I’m Healer Singh, and I’ve been overseeing your recovery. Let me tell you, we certainly had a time of it getting you out of the state you were in, but we managed and you seem to be coming along nicely. Are you feeling any lingering drowsiness or other odd sensations?” 

Percival nodded along, glad to hear that the nurse’s assessment wasn’t off the mark. “Just the drowsiness,” he confirmed and the healer hummed as though he’d been expecting that. Percival decided to cut this short. If the healer didn’t have any reason to keep him there, as far as he was concerned, he didn’t need to remain. “The nurse mentioned I had visitors?” 

Healer Singh hummed again. “That you do. I wanted to hear it from you before I cleared her to come in, but I take it you’re ready to get out of here.” He smiled behind his bushy white moustache as though Percival’s bluntness didn’t put him off at all. 

“’Her’?” Percival asked. He really hadn’t expected Seraphina to visit him first. Surely she wasn’t that desperate for time. If she was, he’d have seen her as soon as he woke up. But the healer just nodded and stood. 

“That’s right. I’ll leave you to it, and once you’ve had a few more hours of observation, I think we can get you cleared for release.” He patted Percival’s bedside without actually touching him after Percival’s eyes narrowed and then headed off as quickly as he’d arrived. Percival watched the doors swing shut behind him. 

A minute later, they burst open again and the whirlwind that was Tina Goldstein came through. “Sir!” she gasped, less from shock and more from having apparently run down the hall, or so he assumed. “It’s so good to see you awake, you wouldn’t believe.” She went straight to him and all he could do was raise his eyebrows at her. She’d been one of the last people he’d expected to see straight away, but she plopped herself in the chair the healer had just vacated and pulled it up to his bedside, and just then it caught up to Percival that he really did not appreciate Tina seeing him in this state, nor anyone who worked under him. Which was most of MACUSA, so he was sort of out of luck if he was honest about it. 

“They told me I was out for at least five days. What happened?” He should have dulled the bite in his tone. Maybe he was making up for the embarrassment, but Tina at least didn’t seem phased. 

“We got him,” she said, but her face fell into a grimace after, “and then he got out. Disappeared. It’s a mess, honestly. And nobody can figure if he’s left the country or not. We’re on lock down. Every magical and no-maj transatlantic transportation is being monitored best we can, but, I gotta say, I think he’s gone.” 

“They didn’t send you here to interrogate me?” Percival lifted a brow and Tina grimaced again. They did, apparently. He hadn’t expected they would send one of his own junior aurors to do it, but maybe that was precisely what Seraphina meant to do. He assumed she’d be reviewing Tina’s memories of the interaction later, and Percival and Tina had a rapport that he didn’t have with anyone he hadn’t worked side by side with. He gave a sharp nod, saving her from having to respond. “Right. Go on, then.” 

She gave him a stiff smile. “Sorry. I got a list of questions. I just wanted to let you know first cause I figured, well, you’d want to.” She shrugged a little, trying to lighten the blow. 

“Damn right about that,” Percival muttered. “Let me guess, your first question is ‘how long was he impersonating me while I was locked up in my own flat?’ or is it ‘was I in fact locked up in my own flat while he was out there impersonating me?’” He might have added a mocking smile once upon a time, but he really couldn’t muster it just then. He _had_ in fact been locked up in his own flat and now he had to fucking prove it somehow. “ _Months._ Three months, if it’s December. You’ll have to forgive me, I lost track of the time whenever he went out for the day. If you heard how they found me, I’m sure you don’t need to ask why.” 

Tina glanced down at her lap where her hands were clasped together. She took a deep breath and didn’t look back up at him right away. “That…about sums it up.” She was clearly very uncomfortable and Percival knew he wasn’t making it any easier for her with how harsh his tone was, but he really didn’t like the leverage Seraphina had given her over him right now. But she raised her gaze to meet his again and he could see her steel herself against it. He couldn’t help feeling a certain amount of approval for her stubbornness, but damned if he was going to show it. “Is there anything you can tell me about him that could be useful? You said he kept you asleep whenever he was gone, but….” 

Percival frowned. He’d been expecting this just as much. “I can tell you how he takes his tea. I can tell you that he’s a fucking terrible singer, or maybe that was just a new and inventive method of torture. But honestly? He conjured up a room out of nowhere, some kind of extension off the main study, and whenever he was working on something or talking to someone, he did it in there. That room was a fucking dead space. I couldn’t get in. I never heard a thing through the walls. He took my wand and warded the perimeter. All I had was wandless magic, and I tell you I could not get anything out of that room no matter what I did.”

Tina’s brows drew together. She waited for him to finish, but only just. “Mr. Graves…there was no room behind the study in your flat. I’d have noticed. There was nothing. The wards were weakened after he left, but…we didn’t find trace of anything like that. We couldn’t find evidence that anyone had been using the fireplace either, although obviously we didn’t have Floo Network Regulators monitoring it at the time.” 

Percival shrugged. “Undetectable Extension Charm? That’s what I assumed it was. It was all I could think of since it certainly hadn’t been there before. And no, he didn’t use the fireplace for anything other than MACUSA business, as far as I saw. Unless he sent owls while I was knocked out, I never saw that either.” 

“You don’t think he could have lines of communication through an Extension Charm, do you?” Tina wrapped her arms around herself. “How would that even work? Unless he wasn’t communicating with his followers at all while he was impersonating you, but I’d find that hard to believe.” 

She was uncomfortable now, Percival could tell. She’d really hoped he could have told them something about Grindelwald’s attachments, probably anything at all. The fact that he truly hadn’t seen anything wouldn’t help his case either. “I always figured he did it while I was out. Or took his letters somewhere else. There was plenty he could do outside the flat that I’d never know, and he wasn’t exactly forthcoming when he got back.”

Tina nodded. He could see her taking it all in and deciding how credible his assertions sounded. She didn’t know Seraphina like he did, but even she had a scale to measure his statements against. The funny thing was that he was already certain she believed him. If he was going to be purely objective on that point, she maybe shouldn’t have, but it was nice to know that she did all the same. And if she didn’t, then her acting skills had improved tenfold over the last three months. 

“So he never mentioned anything, anyone in particular…?” she asked, looking for any scraps she could offer Seraphina, no doubt. 

Percival gave her a wry smile. “He talked about all of you. A _lot_. I think there were times he considered this job a personal hell, so whatever you all were doing, congratulations on that.” He shook his head. Some of it he didn’t want to repeat. There were times when Grindelwald would look at him, square in the eye, and cock his head and just _purr_ that he didn’t see how Percy could stand the bureaucracy of it all. Wouldn’t he just love to snap Abernathy’s neck? Percival shivered away the sensation of warm leather gloves ghosting over his collarbone and moved on. “That was another thing. He’s an excellent legilimens, although I’m not sure if it’s a natural talent or a honed one. He didn’t have to spy on me to get the role down, he just….” He made a vague gesture towards his head and Tina’s eyes widened. 

“Shit,” she breathed. “I mean we knew it was suspected, but….” But normally, Percival was one of the best occlumens the aurors had. “I’ll make sure that’s added to the file,” Tina muttered. She looked up at him again, her mouth twisting into a frown and something that looked too uncomfortably close to pity in her eyes. “Did he…. Are _you_ ok?” 

One mention of forced legilimency and now she was worried. Though really she’d probably just been hiding it until then. “He kept me locked in my fucking flat for three months,” Percival ground out, shutting down that line of conversation as quickly and concisely as he could. If she wanted to hear about his mental abuses, or any other type, she wasn’t going to. His voice turned hard. “He took my wand, he went through my mind, and otherwise, he left me alone. He didn’t torture me. He didn’t hurt me unless I tried to fight him, which happened a few times, but that’s it. Mark that in your notes. That’s it.” 

Tina straightened, shoulders tense, but nodded. “Okay. Okay.” She’d gone a little whiter. She did not reach for any notes, she didn’t need to and they both knew it.

He also knew she wouldn’t bring it up again if she wasn’t specifically asked to, and that is exactly what he’d intended. He just hoped, although very much doubted, that Seraphina would not ask him too much about it as well. They had the doctor’s assessment, they could see he was physically well, and he was willing to tell them the relevant memories Grindelwald took from his mind. It wasn’t that any of that was a lie, it was just…. He almost wished Grindelwald hadn’t been as easy on him as he had. In some respects. In many respects. Percival knew the whole of MACUSA, upon hearing that he’d been captured and held prisoner for three months by the world’s most wanted wizard, would have expected him to show up much worse for wear than what a little mind rummaging and a lot of enforced naps could accomplish. Now Tina probably thought he was hiding worse. 

He glanced up at her. She managed to hold his gaze, although he could tell how much she wanted to look away. She definitely thought he was hiding worse, or that being captured was such a slight to his ego that he didn’t ever want to speak of it ever again. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far off the mark. 

“Is that all?” Percival ran a hand over his face. He didn’t give a shit whether she was sorry now, or whether she thought he was deflecting, which he obviously was. She should know him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to be nicer about it. 

“Yeah, basically.” To her credit, she sounded as unaffected as she could be. At least Tina could take a lot of stress. “You’re going to be on paid leave while they conduct an investigation and verify your claims, which you probably already guessed. They’ve set up a flat for you on Fifth Avenue by the park in the meantime, unless you’ve got somewhere else you’d rather go.” 

Percival grimaced. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded as much, even if he usually preferred his own flat, but he didn’t want to see his own flat again for…a while, and he didn’t want to stay somewhere unfamiliar either. “I’ve got a family house upstate.” 

Tina’s face fell and he saw the bad news coming before she opened her mouth. “Sorry…. If it’s not somewhere they can’t charm, then that’s gonna have to be off limits.” He gave her no response other than a sigh, so she went on, probably just trying to get through. “They also want to put a trace on you, until the investigation is over, and well…once that’s done, I can give you the keys and address.” 

She gave him a tight smile. He glowered. 

“Get it over with.” Percival sat up and rolled back his shirtsleeve, holding out his arm for her. 

Tina quickly got out her wand and muttered the incantation so quietly it seemed she thought someone might overhear. A band of yellow swirled around his wrist and wound itself in spirals until it hardened into the links of a golden bracelet. He lifted it and raised a brow. “Fancy.” 

Tina laughed, her nerves leaving her all at once and then coming back again when she caught herself and quieted. She shrugged. “Figured you wouldn’t accept anything less.” 

He inclined his head, but before she could get up to hand him the keys for the apartment, he interrupted. “Just…one more question.” Tina sat down again and gave him that imploring look with the eyebrow furrow that always made her seem out of her depth, even when he knew she wasn’t. “How did they catch him?” 

She bit her lip and the look that crossed her face made him question whether she wasn’t out of her depth on this one after all. She glanced down to her lap and took a breath. “He found a boy…. A boy from the New Salem Society.” She took another moment to collect her thoughts. “His name was Credence Barebone and he…he turned out to be an obscurial.” She looked up at him then, just in time to see the surprise writ across his face. “We didn’t think it could be possible, but it was. He wasn’t even a _boy_ actually, a young man, really, and as far as Newt says he was the oldest obscurial ever known….” Tina trailed off. “But we figure that was part of what Grindelwald was doing here, searching for that boy. In the end, we didn’t find out who he was until it was already over. Something happened…the obscurus attacked the city and he just dropped the charade after…,” Tina took a breath, “after we destroyed it. We killed that boy.” She gave a half-hearted gesture of shrugging it off, but Percival could see the way she was fighting back a tremor in her voice. 

She’d been involved with this boy somehow, he realised. He tried to look understanding, but he was still stuck on the part about there having been an obscurial there in New York under their noses, likely for years. A grown one, at that. 

Tina swallowed, composing herself. “You should probably know….” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “There were some things I figured out in the end, and I…I didn’t know it was going on at the time, but I think he used you to get close to this boy. I found Credence early on. I found out his mother beat him and I lost my temper. She had to be obliviated, and he demoted me when he found out about it, but I think that was when he met Credence. I think he kept meeting Credence after that, in secret, and maybe he realised Credence was the obscurial or maybe he thought Credence might help him find it, but either way, he fooled that boy like he fooled all of us. I never knew he was meeting with Credence until the obscurus got out.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’ve written it all up in my reports. You can read it when you get back, I just. I just thought you should know.” 

Percival didn’t know what to say. All he could offer her was a solemn nod as he took it in. There were parts of that that stuck in his head. Parts that called upon his imagination, that recalled the way Grindelwald would behave sometimes. Meeting young men in secret, trying to lure an obscurus out…. Percival remembered times Grindelwald backed him against a wall with nothing more than a look and focused interest. Early on he hadn’t been sure if he was about to get violence or something else, but it would be so easy to imagine that man playing the same game with some young thing in a back alley away from the Second Salem church…wearing Percival’s face. 

Percival scowled and held out his hand for the keys. “I will. Now where am I staying?”

Tina gave him a half smile and looked almost relieved at his bluntness. Funny how she could barely keep it together one minute and then be grateful when he refused to offer her any sympathies in the next. He didn’t get it, but he wasn’t about to complain, either. “Here’s your address, keys,” she said, handing him a card and a heavy brass ring of keys, “and…I’m sorry, they wouldn’t let me return your wand. Although they’ve checked it out and it seems to be ok. They want you to meet with Madame President first.”

Percival’s expression only soured further. “I can be expecting her call shortly, I hope?” 

“I’ll let her know you’ll be home this evening.” Tina looked hopeful, but unsure. Seraphina’s schedule was beyond her pay grade. 

“Tell her if she doesn’t get back to me by tomorrow, she’ll find me on her doorstep whether I’m labelled a threat to American security or not.” He levelled her with a look that hopefully drove the point home. 

Tina groaned. “Alright, okay. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t want to talk to you first thing anyhow, but I will. And, oh right, I brought uh,” She looked suddenly flustered and he raised his eyebrows at her. “I brought some clothes from your flat, seeing as how you just had the nightclothes when they…found you….” 

Percival’s brows raised even higher while she set down a paper bag at the side of his bed.

“Right.” She gave a jerky nod, her hair bouncing, and stood. “I’ll be on my way then.”

“Tina,” he stopped her before she could scurry off. 

She turned back with wide eyes and a stiff smile. “Yeah?”

“Don’t ever go through my closet again.” 

She straightened and repeated the jerky nod motion, all the awkwardness coming back into her posture. “Sure thing.” She smiled, and then waved, and then ran. 

When the doors swung shut behind her, Percival tried for a smile, but it was tight and humourless. He sighed and leaned back in bed, wishing he could will away the itch to get up and move as much as the certainty that it would help nothing. It sounded as though everything he’d feared for the last three months had come to pass, everything Grindelwald had suggested and apparently even things he never told Percival. And there had been nothing he could do about any of it. There was nothing he could do now, either, and picking up the pieces that man had left behind of his life and the institution he’d worked for felt like a slap in the face. 

He’d probably feel even worse when he saw Seraphina. He ran his hands over his face, not looking forward to that. Whatever happened to this Second Salem kid, it sounded like it had nearly flattened the city. Percival would be lucky if he still had a job when this was over. Hell, he’d be lucky if that job was down in Permits. 

He resigned himself to the rest of his stay in the hospital and managed to eat a little and drink a little more, although he still wasn’t keen on the crap the place served. Healer Singh came back to check on him after a few hours. The boredom was less easy to tolerate once the potions had worn off and Percival was ready to get up and leave by himself if the healer had come any later. 

As he expected, he would feel some fatigue and tiredness for the rest of the day, but other than that, he was perfectly fine and was soon cleared to leave. He was allowed to change and collected the few items he’d arrived with and then he set out to take a cab north to the park. 

Fifth Avenue spared no expense to its residents, and Percival had attended the occasional dinner and party at one or two of the high rise apartments up and down the street, but it wasn’t really his kind of area. His family had friends there, and MACUSA had several connections. In spite of all this, and although they’d put him in one of the less ostentatious buildings, he did appreciated the effort to make him feel well cared for. 

They even got him an apartment overlooking the park, which he supposed he might appreciate at some point. Besides the rooms being much smaller than his own apartment, that was one of the first things he noticed upon stepping inside. It was furnished, although not entirely to his taste, but well enough, and the pantry was stocked. He wasn’t sure whether to appreciate the thought or feel slightly annoyed that they probably hoped he’d have enough incentive not to leave as much as possible. He greatly suspected that to be the case. 

Still, he’d had to take the no-maj means of transportation there and without his wand, he was going to be severely limited in a lot of his regular activities. Not limited completely. Not too limited to check the wards around the apartment, even, he thought as he raised a hand and focused on feeling out the space around him. He recognized the particular flavour of MACUSA in the magic and found them to be strong. Strong enough to keep dark magic out, he supposed, but also charmed to let the Surveillance Resources Department know when he came and went and he wasn’t very thrilled about that. 

Percival wanted his wand. He wanted to get back to work and read up on what had happened when he was gone and not have everyone look at him like he was a stranger and not their boss. And most of all he wanted to feel…free again. And he didn’t, he realised. 

He sat down on the couch beside the window and just…looked around his apartment. There wasn’t anything more for him to do, and the weight of that was surprisingly oppressive. He didn’t want to relax. He didn’t want to have a drink. He wanted all of this waiting to be done and over with and yet he didn’t even want Seraphina and her lackeys to come over and see to that. He wanted to skip the process altogether. 

Percival sighed and closed his eyes. The couch was comfortable at least, and he sank back into it, trying to force himself to relax. He’d had more than enough sleep for the day, but he didn’t feel like he had much else to do besides sit there and maybe figure out what he was going to tell the President when she arrived. So that’s what he did. Eventually he got up and made himself a pot of coffee the manual way, and then sat right back down again to mull over the last three months and see if he could figure out anything useful to offer. 

He hated the little voice in the back of his mind that told him he didn’t have much.


	3. Chapter 3

When Gellert opened the door to his flat, the first thing he noticed was a delightful aroma. He paused halfway through the door just to be sure he wasn’t wrong, but no, that was definitely the scent of baking. Pastries and honey and cinnamon, if he had to guess. He shut the door behind him and hung his coat on the rack before catching himself and shrugging on the illusion of Graves. He glanced in a hallway mirror and the corner of his lip lifted in a smile the real Percival Graves hadn’t worn in a very long time. It was strange, keeping up the charade, but he had to admit, he didn’t mind the look. 

With that settled, he headed to the kitchen on silently charmed soles, catching sight of his guest and house elf before either noticed him. They were seated on the floor with a towel and a tray of baked goods between them and, surely enough, they were eating pastries. For once Credence looked comfortable. His shoulders were relaxed, even though he hunched over his plate, and there was no crease between his brows anymore. He was licking his thumb, sucking it between bright red lips and then over them, too, collecting all the sugar he could before he took another bite. Credence had always been a delight to watch when he was eating, so well-mannered and grateful for anything Gellert gave him. He always made some show of trying to turn down the offers of a cafe visit, but hunger always got the better of him in the end. Gellert’s reward was the same single minded focus Credence had on the simple delight of good food. He would pick up every crumb from his plate and lick his fingers and moisten his cherry lips in the very same way he did now, but he’d been older and Gellert had not remembered it looking quite so…obscene. 

He stopped in the doorway to watch. 

It was Gwendoline who spotted him first. She’d been daintily nibbling on a pastry herself when her eye caught on his boot. All at once she shot up from the floor with a squeak and threw herself into her deepest bow. “Master! Gwendoline hopes master is not upset, sir. Gwendoline was only trying to do as master asked and look after sir Credence!” 

The boy beside her froze while Gwendoline continued to babble until his eyes rose to Gellert’s and they met. Credence’s thoughts flashed as clear as day between them. _Terror. How could Credence have let himself relax? Not try to escape before Mr. Graves got home? Just at the prospect of food?_ His mind was searching for an escape now, but his body wasn’t moving. 

With a wave of his fingers, Gellert knocked Gwendoline aside, wandlessly sending her sliding across the tile floor just so that she would stop apologizing. All he wanted to focus on was Credence. It did the trick to shut her up, but Credence flinched violently at the act and tried to back away when Gellert crouched down before the boy. 

Gellert dropped his gaze to the pastries and reached out to take one, lifting it to his mouth and finding Credence’s eyes again before he bit into it. It was still warm, and topped with cinnamon glaze. “Mmm,” he hummed. “These are very good. Did you help make them?” 

Credence couldn’t seem to figure out whether he should be looking at Gellert’s hand or his mouth or his eyes as Gellert ate the last of the pastry in just one more bite, but he nodded and finally settled back on meeting Gellert’s eyes. The boy’s jaw set and he took a deep breath. Gellert could hear flashes of his thoughts, half-formed snippets as thoughts often were in a distressed mind, but Credence was schooling himself again, trying to draw upon the anger he still held for Mr. Graves. “You said I could eat if I was hungry. And you weren’t here.” Credence managed to perfect the defiant look, staring up from underneath his slim brows, but he was still cowering on the floor of the kitchen. 

“Oh I’m not upset,” Gellert said, licking his fingers much in the same way Credence had done when he hadn’t known he was being watched. “I just dislike Gwendoline’s stammering.” The house elf flinched and hugged her arms closer to her body. Gellert knew Credence didn’t believe him. The boy looked too long at the way she held herself, expecting Gellert to strike her again. Probably harder, and probably with his hand instead of magic, the muggle way. “I’m also wondering why you chose to have your dinner on the floor here when I have a perfectly nice table for you to use.” Gellert inclined his head, drawing Credence’s attention back to him. “You’re welcome to use anything I’ve left openly available to you in this flat.” 

Credence’s eyes dropped. His jaw worked and Gellert could feel the boy deciding whether he wanted to answer at all. “She said…house elves aren’t allowed to sit at tables.” Tension was coming off him in waves, and not a small amount of uncertainty. Credence did not know proper conduct in the wizarding world.

“Are you a house elf?” Gellert raised his brows, feigning confusion and looking the boy up and down. Credence looked away and Gellert felt an instant flood of embarrassment coming from the boy’s mind. He pushed the tray out of the way to move closer. He reached out, and as he’d suspected, Credence didn’t shy away this time, but he wanted to. Gellert’s fingers lifted his chin and their eyes met again. “There’s no need for you to sit on the floor.” 

Credence wouldn’t hold their gaze. Shame radiated off him and Gellert caught those fractions of thought again, that Credence should have had a better sense of self-worth, that Mr. Graves thought he was pathetic, that he’d just wanted to sit with Gwendoline and it hadn’t mattered at the time but he didn’t know what to do now, all along with the underlying disbelief that he was again feeling so ashamed at Mr. Graves’ opinion of him. 

“There now, it’s alright,” Gellert brushed his thumb over Credence’s cheek, marvelling at how soft it was. “Why don’t we take these and sit at the table like civilised people and we can have some more?” He picked up the tray and paid no attention as Gwendoline shrank back to the corner. She was waiting to be either dismissed or punished, he knew, but he didn’t want either to happen before Credence had separated himself from the notion that he was somehow at her level. 

Gellert drew the boy up with him until Credence stood at roughly waist height, head hung low and eyes fixed on the ground. Gellert led him over to the table and pulled out a chair, ushering Credence to sit. He pulled out a chair for himself next to the boy and with a wave of his hand, brought two new plates down from the cupboards for them while the ones Credence and Gwendoline had been using floated up into the sink to be washed while Credence looked on in quite amazement. 

There weren’t many pastries gone from the pan and Gellert assumed Credence could have a couple more without feeling too full or possibly getting sick, not being used to such heavy foods. It didn’t look like Credence was going to move, however, so he held one out for the boy. Credence took it only out of ingrained manners. 

“Why don’t you tell me how you made them?” Gellert asked, taking another for himself. 

Credence frowned and looked at the pastry in his hand, but Gellert caught the boy’s attention lingering on Gwendoline, still hunched in the corner of the kitchen. Credence also knew why she hadn’t left. He caught onto their dynamic very quickly. “I didn’t make them,” he finally said, voice quiet, but holding a note of defiance. 

“No?” Gellert tore a piece off and placed it between his lips, watching Credence to see if the boy would look up while he ate. He didn’t. “You can’t even tell me what went into them? Or do it again if you wanted to?” He tore off another piece and Credence looked away even more pointedly. 

Gellert refusing to acknowledge the house elf was bothering Credence, but it was clear Credence didn’t know how to accuse him of that. It had taken Mr. Graves casting him aside entirely for Credence to stand up for himself and lash out at the man. Credence didn’t know how to do that for another person. All he knew how to do was offer himself for punishment instead, like he did for Modesty, but Gellert wasn’t punishing Gwendoline yet. He’d claimed not to be bothered at all, and Credence had no idea what to do without a threat of some sort. 

In the end Credence just shook his head, even though Gellert knew he was lying. 

Gellert let the boy squirm under his gaze before he shrugged. “Unfortunate, but no matter. Perhaps baking doesn’t interest you. Gwendoline,” he called and lifted the tray. 

The house elf jumped up and hurried to them, wringing her hands. “Yes, master?” 

Credence gripped the tablecloth, looking like he was ready to either jump between them or shout. Or cower. Gellert ignored him. “Wrap this, won’t you? And then you may be excused.” 

“Thank you, sir.” She gave a quick nod and took the tray before scurrying out of sight as fast as possible. 

Gellert turned back to Credence with a soft smile on his face and Credence forgot to look away. All that tension in his little body had nowhere to go. He looked like he hadn’t been expecting that simple of a dismissal. 

“There’s a lot about the wizarding world you have yet to learn.” Gellert leaned back in his chair and studied the boy. “Nearly everything, actually. Children who grow up with muggle parents usually have the same disadvantage, but when they go to school at about the age you are now, if you were really that age, they begin to learn. The culture clash can be stressful, to put it mildly.” 

Credence’s brows furrowed, but he listened quietly. Gellert could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. Wariness was there, of course, but Credence was getting to hear his Mr. Graves talk about the wizarding world again and he used to love listening. Gellert used to give him little bits of information when they exchanged news, little stories and anecdotes to hone Credence’s interest. That definitely hadn’t been difficult. The more Credence learned, the more he wanted to know, even if Gellert hadn’t given him much. 

Credence let go of the tablecloth, but his hands still clenched together with tension. “Do all wizards keep….” His plush lips thinned as he tried to word it correctly. Little did he know that the all the words he thought of flashed at the forefront of his mind for Gellert to see quite easily. _Servants. Maids. Slaves?_

“House elves?” Gellert asked instead. 

Credence nodded. 

The boy had worried he might become one of them in position, even if he was human, but then Gellert had immediately taken him away from Gwendoline upon his return. Credence clearly wasn’t sure whether to worry about that still. 

“Many wizard families do. The use of servants in our society is more common than it is with muggles in this age, excluding perhaps the upper classes, although if you’ve read any history, you’ll know that that was not always the case with muggles. House elves have been serving wizards for centuries. It’s so ingrained in them that their magic nearly forbids them to do anything against their master’s wishes. It’s a life they prefer living, even.” Gellert continued to watch the boy carefully and Credence tried his hardest not to react at all. Nevertheless, he still looked uncomfortable. 

Eventually, however, Credence nodded again. He wouldn’t look at Gellert. His mouth twisted down and his shoulders sunk farther into their hunch. Gellert felt his thoughts take hold of a new track, one that twisted in Credence’s stomach. “Do you…have a family? Is that why you have Gwendoline?” 

Just the opposite of Credence, Gellert broke into a slow smile. “No,” he shook his head and chuckled, causing Credence’s cheeks to flush pink. “I don’t have a family. I simply prefer to keep my flat well looked after. I haven’t the time nor the patience myself, and house elves are very good at such things.” 

Gellert couldn’t stop grinning now. Credence still wouldn’t look at him, but it didn’t matter. The boy had shown his hand. In spite of everything, he was still invested in his Mr. Graves. Gellert didn’t have any illusions that the boy wouldn’t still love to lash out at him, but he was delighted all the same. With soft cheeks and pouting mouth, Credence made the perfect picture of sweet, innocent defiance, more beautiful than he had ever been. And perhaps not truly so innocent. After all, Credence had lived through plenty of abuses already. His innocence was only a lack of experience in…other areas of life. Gellert knew well how much the boy had wanted more than their encounters in a dark alley. And here Credence was now, after everything, envious of some imagined family Gellert may have just because of a house elf. 

“Here.” Gellert reached out and caught one of the boy’s hands in his own, his grip light, and tried to draw Credence to him. Credence would have gone before. He never resisted when Gellert drew him into his arms for comfort. Even when it first had started, with light touches that grew more and more inviting, Credence had never showed signs of resistance. Only propriety. And once Graves had assured him that that they need not worry about such things, Credence had melted into him every time he called the boy closer. 

Now, however, Credence snatched his hand back. “No!” He shrank into his chair, everything about his posture defensive, and _still_ he would not look Gellert in the eye. He didn’t get up though. He looked every bit the petulant child, curling in on himself in a seat still a little too big for him. 

Gellert put his hand up, placating, before drawing it back to himself. “Okay. That’s alright. But I’d like to show you something, if you would allow me.” 

Credence didn’t move. 

Gellert let the silence draw out before inclining his head. “Perhaps later, then.” He could feel a new conflict in Credence’s mind. For a moment the boy’s intentions had been crystal clear—that Gellert should get away, that he had betrayed Credence and Credence never wanted to be touched by him again. But now that Gellert had acquiesced, had drawn back, Credence feared being left alone almost just as much. And that was exactly what he would get now, the boy was sure of it. 

Credence was right. 

Gellert drew himself to his feet and straightened his chair. “You’re welcome to make use of the library. I’ll be attending to things in the room at the end of the hall. If you need me, just knock.” He kept his tone soft and made sure Credence knew he meant it. This seeming kindness would only make the conflict inside of the boy worse, having himself made sure that Gellert left him alone. And with that, Gellert did leave. His slim fingers slid across the tablecloth, drawing elegantly away from Credence and he did not glance back. 

Gellert went to the room at the end of the hall, the one that had not been there the night prior, and closed the door behind himself. There, he’d moved his study, everything but the bookshelves that included some delicate and some very difficult to manage tomes. It had not been worth the hassle to move them the night prior with everything else, nor did Gellert see the need to. They might even give him an excuse to visit Credence if he ever locked himself away for too long. 

He went to sit at the dark oak desk and was too curious still not to pull out one of his mirrors. With a wave of his hand, the kitchen came into view, looking down from above, and there was little Credence, still staring at the hallway where Gellert had disappeared. The boy’s mind was too faint to hear this far away, but Gellert could guess how he felt easily enough. Trapped and alone, and now the poor boy had nothing to do with himself. 

Gellert drew a finger over the small figure before laying the mirror back down. It was probably for the best. Credence might not be able to relax, but he would have the opportunity, as much as it allowed him. And he would be more open to seeing Gellert again when he returned. For now, Gellert really did need to see to business anyway. He’d been able to meet with one of his officers that morning, and he needed to follow up with several more. They were working on a new strategy now, one he felt had merit, but it was difficult to tell how much even with a good amount of divination. Nevertheless he knew that unrest in the muggle world would benefit his platform, no matter how much that unrest grew. Credence would have to wait. 

And wait Credence did. For hours, Gellert paced in front of his fireplace, speaking with officers in every nearby country, promising them they would meet soon. There were logistical issues with this part of his plan, tasks that only he or a few very cunning, very intellectually flexible, followers would be able to carry out if they had any chance of success. They were going to need to infiltrate muggle forums in concert with another set of attacks, and they would need to do this without the wizarding authorities noticing. 

The more Gellert thought about it, and the more he received news of his followers’ efforts in Europe since he’d last contacted them while in America, the more he started to realise that he would have to do a lot of this himself. Too few of them could be trusted to pull it off without being noticed. His followers were good at just that—following. He’d chosen the officers among them for their ability to lead, but this…required a different skill set. Most of them were too unused to muggle rhetoric and politics to perform it even as an act. 

The more his plan unfolded, the more thoughts of Credence lingered in the back of his mind. Credence could benefit from seeing the outcome. Many wizards could benefit from seeing the outcome—families fearful for their children, those in power…. But Credence…Credence especially. The boy identified more with a house elf and felt no loyalty to Gellert now, but Gellert knew the boy had very little loyalty to muggles either. Credence barely thought about it at all, in fact. Even though they’d hurt him, he’d just accepted that was the way things were. That was normal, for Credence. Living with muggles had been a horrible environment for him and the idea of wizardkind having a whole society of their own, separate from that, had been enthralling to the boy. But he hadn’t been embroiled in wizard culture nearly enough yet. But Gellert may be able to change that. One day, Credence might imagine magic to be just as normal. 

When Gellert finally set down his work and took up the mirror again, he found Credence not in the kitchen or the living room, but back in the room he’d been given, curled up on the bed with his clothes still on. He wasn’t sleeping, just lying there with his little legs drawn up and his fingers curling against the sheets beneath him, folding it in endless twists and knots, only to undo it again. He looked…lonely. Gellert knew how lonely Credence had been before, but he’d had routine then. He’d had other people who expected things from him and Credence had been forced to submit to their wishes in order to have a place to rest his head at night. He knew no other life. He had guidance, even if he hated it. 

Gellert tucked away the mirror and rose to his feet. He’d let Graves’ face drop while he’d been using the fireplace so he donned it again and checked himself in the mirror. Funny how he saw this face every morning for the past several months looking back at him in mirrors with his own expressions, and then sitting across the table from the man who owned that face every morning while Graves sat tense and wary of every move Gellert made. He didn’t think Graves ever realised just how much fun he’d been, so easy for Gellert to rile. 

He slipped from the study and knocked twice at Credence’s door. There was no sound inside, so Gellert opened it and found Credence still laying on his side, his back turned to Gellert. The boy didn’t move when Gellert went to his bed and sat down beside him. Gellert even reached out a hand and stroked down the boy’s thigh and Credence didn’t move. His mind was more audible now. Credence was still upset with himself and his situation, although that wasn’t difficult to tell from his listlessness either, but Gellert might be able to draw him out of it. 

“Would you come with me?” Gellert asked, repeating his earlier request. His fingers massaged Credence’s leg, but tension crept back into the muscle and Credence’s shoulders hunched. “You don’t want to be cooped up all day, do you?” 

“Where?” Credence asked, defiantly staring at the wall. He wanted Gellert to know he wasn’t trusted. Credence wanted any bit of leverage he could have, even if all that meant was that he knew where they would be going and could decide whether he wanted to go or not. The touch didn’t calm him, but Gellert could tell it was not alarming either, which was all he wanted for the moment. 

“Kromlau.” Gellert’s hand moved down to his knee and back up again, warming the muscle under Credence’s thick trousers. “A small town south of here. It’s not far.” 

“Why do you want me to go?” Credence implored further, sounding quite a lot like a real child. He twisted his fingers into the sheets until they pulled the fabric so taut it wouldn’t give any further. He hung on, emphasising the tension all around him with such a simple motion. 

Gellert reached out and clasped his hand over Credence’s and after a moment, the boy let go. “You remember I wanted to teach you magic, don’t you? Or have you forgotten already?” Gellert asked, rubbing his thumb over Credence’s palm and feeling his little fingers clench against it, unsure if he liked the sensation or not. Turmoil still roiled under the boy’s exterior. 

“You were lying.” Credence’s voice was flat, accusatory without holding any overt emotion at all. He was so good at pushing it all down. Just not good enough to make it truly go away. 

“I was,” Gellert admitted. “I did not believe you were capable of performing magic at the time, and I knew you would help me if I offered it. Had I known the truth….” 

Credence’s hand clenched tighter, his little nails digging into the soft part of Gellert’s palm. “You just want to use me again,” the boy whispered. “Just like you wanted to do the last time.” A litany of accusations ran through his mind for Gellert to see even though Credence restrained himself aloud. _—were never my friend. You don’t care. Just lie again. I’m just a…thing for you to use._

“You don’t even know why I was looking for you, do you?” Gellert asked softly. He shifted to climb up onto the bed, never removing his hand from the boy’s, and settled down behind him. Credence twitched when Gellert fitted himself close, pressing up to Credence and letting his arm drape over the boy’s middle to hold him. Credence’s skin was cold and Gellert knew his body was warm. Credence fit in his embrace so well now. He would have had an inch on Gellert before, if he’d ever straightened up, whether Gellert was using Graves’ body or his own, but now…. He could wrap the boy up in his arms and completely engulf him if he wanted to. And Gellert had to admit, the thought was tempting. “And you have no idea how hard it would have been for you to join the wizarding world without being able to do magic. I know I lied to you, Credence, but please believe me. We’re about to enter a war, and I—,” Gellert pressed his nose to the back of Credence’s neck, brushing the skin as he spoke, “I was desperate.”

He felt the boy’s shiver almost as much as Credence felt his words. The string of angry thoughts running through Credence’s mind went silent, replaced by a deep undercurrent of longing. There were other emotions in the mix. Disbelief and fear tainted the feeling and left Credence as restrained as he’d been before Gellert touched him, but the boy was frozen now. His mind had gone off-track. Credence opened his mouth just to breathe, taking in deep lungfuls as Gellert gently kissed that spot on the back of his neck. 

“H—How can I trust anything you say now?” Credence gasped. His shoulders squirmed, but instead of curling into himself further, Credence arched his back. It was the tiniest motion. He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, but he was. 

“Let me show you,” Gellert whispered against the back of his ear. Credence felt so good against him, he forgot he’d meant to do this for the boy’s sake. That was sometimes so easy to forget with him, even when Gellert thought he was a squib. Whenever he would lean into Gellert and let himself be held, be moved into whatever position Gellert wanted him and content to remain there until Gellert pulled away. “When you understand what you can do, Credence, when you understand how you became what you did, you could do so much for wizardkind. You would understand why I did what I did. You’d believe me when I say I never want to hurt another one of our kind.” 

“You were going to leave me behind.” Credence’s voice sounded so small. His other hand wrapped around Gellert’s, pulling it to his chest, still gripping too tight. Credence was caught on the verge of holding on or pushing it away and it didn’t seem he could decide. His body still shivered when Gellert laid his chin on the boy’s shoulder. 

“I know that was wrong of me,” Gellert admitted, “but if I’d planned to take you with me, as a squib, it would have been too dangerous. You’d never have been able to defend yourself if you had to. You wouldn’t have been able to navigate the world. You’d have been far safer back in New York.” With his free hand he caressed Credence’s hair, letting his fingers run underneath the soft strands and massage there gently. 

Credence bit his lip. His thoughts turned sharply towards shame and frustration, feelings so familiar to his mind. “I can’t defend myself _now_ ,” he bit out, hating the words as they left his mouth. How he’d always hated being so helpless. How he’d always hated not being able to leave Mary Lou and the church. He’d wanted to so much and yet it was all he knew, all he was good for. He knew no trades, had no connections, and no official schooling although he’d diligently worked through the lessons Mary Lou and the other patrons of the church had provided, when they had been there. Gellert saw flashes of memories, but the strongest of all was the ever present feeling of helplessness and despair, the absolute fear Credence had had that if he ever lost the church, for any reason, he would die hungry in the street. 

Gellert shifted, lifting Credence who was now as light as a feather, so that he could wrap both arms around him. “But you can learn.” His voice was firm. There were times when Credence needed that tone more than anything. Gellert never made it harsh, just sure. Something Credence could lean on, could believe in when he didn’t have the experience to believe in himself. It wasn’t a lie this time. He now knew Credence could learn magic. The only question was how strong he could be and whether he was not permanently disabled, but Gellert knew that the answer to that question would be a long time coming. How much time and effort he spent on the boy was going to be determined by it someday, but he didn’t…want to throw such a beautiful creature away either. Even if Credence never surpassed mediocre magical ability, Gellert didn’t have to leave him behind completely, even if he would have to focus his efforts elsewhere. Not if Credence came around to him…. “You have that potential. It wasn’t something I could give you, but it is something that I can help you draw out and hone into greatness.”

Credence was silent after that. For the first time since Credence had come with him, Gellert thought he might have been warming a little. There was the lingering worry in Credence’s mind that he could ever be ‘great’, but his thoughts had calmed considerably. 

Gellert extracted his hand from Credence’s clutches and used it to turn the boy’s head towards him. Credence let him and finally their eyes met. Gellert gave him a soft smile. “I’ve seen you when you were truly angry. You forget to be so self-deprecating,” he reminded the boy. “I like that. You should let yourself think that way more often.” 

Credence frowned, but Gellert’s thumb ran over his bottom lip to wipe it away. It worked. The boy stopped breathing. Gellert let his thumb rest there, feeling Credence’s softness and wanting to lean in and press his lips there instead. Too much, too fast, he reminded himself, over and over, so he drew his hand back instead, cupping Credence’s head, and leaned up to press a kiss against the boy’s forehead. Gellert still revelled in the feel of him, feather brushes of hair against his lips and the softest skin he’d ever felt. When he drew away, Credence had managed to start breathing again. He looked a little shocked, eyes searching Gellert’s face. If he wasn’t mistaken, Credence had been hoping for a different kind of kiss. Or at least a part of him had. 

Gellert offered him that small smile again, really just a twitch at the corner of his lip. “What do you say? Will you come with me?” 

Credence thought for a long moment, but he managed to refrain from biting his lip again. He had a lot of questions still. He wanted to know all about it before he went anywhere, but this kind of physical intimacy was reassuring. Just enough to calm the boy’s nerves, to believe that Gellert wasn’t about to take him out somewhere to be tortured, or worse. Although Credence didn’t totally disbelieve that either. Gellert held eye contact, willing Credence to obey, and, finally, the boy nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Gellert confirmed, and Credence nodded more firmly. “Okay.” He let a real smile cross his face. “Don’t worry. You’re going to love this,” he reassured the boy.

“You can’t tell me what it is before we get there?” Credence tried one last time. 

Gellert’s smile only widened. “And ruin the surprise?” He tsked Credence and ran his finger down the boy’s nose, which scrunched up as Credence pulled his head back. His cheeks flushed red and Gellert felt a stab of shame from the boy’s mind at being treated like a child, so Gellert let his fingers sooth it away with strokes down the back of his neck. “Time to get up, then. We don’t want to waste the daylight.” Gellert lifted Credence’s hand and indulged in a kiss to his fingers before lifting himself up and swinging his legs over the bed. He willed away his arousal that had been threatening to become visible while Credence climbed up and followed. 

“We’ll have to get you a coat and then we can be on our way,” Gellert mused. Credence looked very fine in the clothes he’d already made, but the boy did need something for the cold. 

Credence looked down at himself and nodded, a jumble of thoughts cascading through his mind, centring on his short stature and the kiss Gellert placed upon his fingers not even a minute ago, but Gellert also felt the boy pushing those thoughts aside as best he could. “Do you always make your own clothing with magic?” 

“Oh no. There are shops for such things, just like in the muggle world,” Gellert told Credence as the boy followed him back into the hall where he found a closet and rummaged through a few of his own coats before finding one warm enough to pull out. He removed the hanger and took out his wand, lifting the coat into the air so that he could see what he was doing, and with a few flicks and swishes, shrank it to a size small enough for Credence. “There are wizards and witches who specialise in such things, but transfiguration is an incredible skill and if you can hone it well enough, you can make almost anything.” He handed the coat over to Credence, who took it with a visible sense of awe in his face, holding it up to see before slipping his arms into it and shrugging it over his slender shoulders. Gellert wondered how long Credence would have that reaction over the simplest spells. He shrank some mittens and a scarf for the boy also, and judged that would do well enough for where they were going. 

Gellert kept Graves’ face as they left the city. No one would recognise him there, but his real face…. That would be running too great a risk. Credence allowed himself to be apparated by Gellert’s side to the edge of the city, and then they were forced to walk again. With the disillusionment charm in place over the both of them, they were able to take the road without worries of appearing suspicious to passing motorists. After twenty minutes or so of walking in silence, Gellert determined they were beyond the anti-apparition zones and took hold of Credence’s hand. The boy glanced up, but before he could ask, Gellert apparated them away again. 

When their feet reconnected with solid ground, they found themselves in a forest. Credence turned at the call of birds, looking all around and spotting nothing of immediate distinction, but Gellert kept hold of his hand and led the boy through the dry underbrush until they reached a wide stone path. He took out his wand and cast a detection charm to make sure there were no muggles near the area, and as he’d hoped, found none. 

Credence’s fingers clutched his hand tighter as they walked down a path of sunken steps. Something was making the boy nervous, but Gellert could not tell whether it was simply anticipation of where the path would lead or something more. He did not let it deter him, however. Credence had been apprehensive all the while, but still he followed obediently enough. 

Gradually, the birdsong grew distant and Gellert knew they were almost there. Their path came upon the edge of a lake that drew Credence’s eye. It’s waters still, and blemished only with a bit of moss growing at the shore where thin tree trunks grew wild, leaning over the water as far as they could while still being rooted firmly to the ground. 

The silence became strange. Even the sound of their own feet seem subdued. Credence mimicked Gellert’s light step without conscious effort. The boy was so used to hardly causing a sound it was not surprising. He would have likely felt ashamed had he been the loudest trespasser in these woods. Their path had taken them low and wound around the water in a tight, meandering fashion, but often it left the lake open enough through the leafless trees to gaze upon and see all the way across, and it wasn’t long before Gellert spotted their destination. 

Credence caught sight of it, too, although he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, at first. The boy stopped, tugging Gellert’s hand without realising it, and stared out across the water at the shape of a perfect circle of stone hovering over its surface. Or not hovering, the boy realised, and Gellert smiled at the track of his thoughts. It was a trick of the eye that sent tingles down the back of Credence’s spine when he understood what he was seeing, that there was no perfect stone circle sitting in a narrow part of the lake. It was simply a bridge connecting one side to the other. A bridge that made a half circle over water so still that its reflection stood out as clear as a mirror image below it. Through that circle they could see the other side of the lake beyond, as still and as silent as their side. 

Gellert crouched at Credence’s side, looking across the water. “It’s called the Rakotzbrucke. The Devil’s Bridge.” He squeezed Credence’s hand when the boy looked down at him, a trace of worry in those dark brown eyes, softer in the light of the fading sun. 

“Why is it called the Devil’s Bridge?” Credence asked, voice hushed to no more than a whisper. He was afraid of breaking the silence here, afraid of disturbing anything that lurked beyond the path they walked and the short distance they could see into the dry underbrush of the forest. Either Credence had good instincts, or he was simply cautious all the time. 

Gellert decided it was likely both. Credence was right to keep his voice low, respectful of the silence imbued in the very atmosphere. Gellert had already proved himself to the old magic here. He could stand tall and speak as he liked and not fear being barred from its currents. He smiled up at the boy with a secret on the tip of his tongue. “It’s a bridge between worlds. An ancient magic, older than wizarding historians are aware of. No one knows of this place, Credence, not muggles nor wizards alike. Devil’s Bridges are only legend now. The wizards who attempted to make this one were ultimately unaware that it worked, as none were worthy enough to cross over.” He rose to his feet and straightened Credence’s scarf. “You are going cross with me. To a world where no one has travelled for thousands of years.” 

Credence’s eyes widened, but the uncertainty in his mind and in his face did not dissipate. When Gellert stepped forward, he felt resistance from their joined hands. He paused and Credence looked between him and the bridge. The boy bit his lip again and his shoulders threatened to hunch, but not quite out of shame this time. “It’s safe?” he asked, voice as small as ever. 

“Perfectly,” Gellert offered in reassurance, and then he softened his tone. “You’ll see. Trust me in this.”

Credence turned back to him with a stormy look in his eyes. He didn’t want to have to trust Gellert, which much was more than clear already, but he swallowed and nodded, finding resolution within himself somewhere. Credence had already been trapped in a state not human and barely even attached to the corporeal world for days, and he barely knew anything of magic to begin with. It made sense that he might be wary of crossing into any new planes of existence. Fortunately, however, Gellert had no such reservations. 

He led them along the path until they could no longer see the bridge from the side. Instead it rose up in front of them. The path narrowed to fit perhaps two people across and the slope up was rather steep to accommodate the top of the circle. But Gellert did not take them over it. Instead, he bid Credence to follow him off the path entirely, heading down over the frozen ground to the edge of the water. 

“Notice the lake isn’t frozen,” Gellert said as he took out his wand and drew it along the water’s edge, following it one step after another. “It’s warmer here, always. The snow will fall all it likes, but it’ll never get cold enough to affect the water.” Credence took a second look around, taking in the details he hadn’t noticed before. It was easy to think the chill had receded simply by being under the cover of so many trees, that they may have stopped the wind and provided a small amount of insulation, or perhaps interrupted the cooling effect of the sun’s light reflecting off white snow, but in truth the cause of the warmer temperature was none of those things. 

Gellert finally stopped several metres away. “There we are.” With a swish of his wand, he revealed a slim, wooden boat tied to one of the leaning tree trunks. Behind him, Credence took a quiet breath. He took hold of the boat’s rope and pulled it in close to the shore and then turned back to the boy and held out his hand. “Come now,” he beckoned and Credence hesitated, glancing between his hand and the boat. Credence had likely never been on one before and the thought made Gellert’s imploring smile curl a little wider. There was so much this boy had never done before, and he couldn’t help finding the smallest things delightful. 

Finally, Credence made up his mind and stepped down, taking Gellert’s hand and allowing him to help Credence into the boat. Gellert had the boy in his arms for a split second more before he had to let him down again and on unsteady legs, Credence made his way to the seat in the middle. He looked around uncertainly, his hands folded into fists against his thighs and his arms as stiff and close to his sides as they could be. He looked like he expected that if he moved, the boat would surely tip over. Gellert let himself grin as he untied it from the tree with a wave of his hand and climbed in. There was no oar. He had no need of one. It would be an affront to the lake itself, with magic imbued in every drop of water down to its depths. So he settled across from Credence and with no further warning, the boat gently pushed away from land. The boy watched it drift away until he forced himself to turn around and look where they were going. 

The tranquillity of the lake did nothing to calm Credence’s nerves, but Gellert enjoyed it for both of them. The sun was low in the sky now, casting salmon hues across all that it touched, including the stones of the bridge before them and the water’s reflection. Slowly, they cut across the lake, leaving behind a slim wake that quickly faded back into its glass surface. 

Credence’s hands gripped the sides of the boat as they neared and although the boy was turned away from him, Gellert caught a glimpse of his mouth opening and his gaze being drawn up to the high stone arch above them. The same arch reflected below, carrying them through the centre point of a perfect circle. Gellert looked over the side and found the mirror image of Graves’ face staring back at him. The reflection winked and he gave a soft laugh just before they passed through. 

Credence looked all around, from the green trees ahead of them to the still smooth lake below, and his eyes widened when he noticed the difference in the lake they just left. Everything was green. And it was no longer silent, either. Birds called overhead, crickets chirped in the thick underbrush at the sides of the lake, and even the distant sound of flowing water could be heard. The sun was higher in the sky now, too, and only a few wisps of clouds hovered overhead. 

Gellert leaned forward and startled the boy when he caught the sleeves of his heavy coat. “You won’t be needing this any longer,” he said. “It’s always summer here.” 

When Credence turned back to him, the boy stared in shock. Gellert saw himself in Credence’s mind, as clear as the lake below them. The illusion of Graves had washed away just as the winter had. Credence had only seen him like this a couple times and the boy’s eyes caught on his pale hair and mismatched eyes. Gellert let him take in the differences as he helped Credence out of his coat and mittens, setting them down on the floor of the boat before removing his own coat and scarf. 

“It’ll get quite hot by midday,” Gellert warned the boy as they approached a clearing on the opposite side of the shore. A small patch of sand waited for them and the bow of the boat slid effortlessly up onto it. Gellert waited a moment for them to come to a stop before he beckoned Credence to stand with him and then stepped over the side. Credence straightened, expecting to hear a splash, but none came. Gellert grinned when the boy looked over and found that he was standing on the glassy surface of the water. He held his hand out for Credence. 

The boy didn’t refuse it this time, but he was wary of the water. Gellert helped him over the side, and after a tentative step down, Credence stood beside him, staring down through the lake at the pebbles in the sand beneath their feet. “What is this place?” Credence asked softly. “Is all the wizarding world like this?”

“Not at all.” Gellert took his hand and led him away to the shore. “This place is very special, and very old. Magic works differently here. There is no spell casting and no special wand waving. There is only intent and the strength of your will and of your magic.” 

Credence jumped up onto the grassy hill, letting his feet sink into the lush earth. He was forgetting himself in the moment and the newness of it all. He caught the smell of wild flowers in the air and spotted some at the side of a path leading away from the little shore. 

“Of course, the same spells that can be used in our world can also be used here, but one does not need to abide by the same rules to perform them,” Gellert went on, watching Credence inspect the flowers. They grew almost as tall as him in an array of yellows and purples. Gellert leaned over the boy and pressed one to his nose. 

“What’s this place…for, then?” Credence asked. “Who made it?” 

“No one made it. It’s always existed. Our ancestors simply learned how to cross from one world into the other.” Gellert squeezed Credence’s shoulder. “You can do anything you like here. Anything you can imagine. And I imagined it would be a particularly good location to practice your magic.” 

Credence looked up sharply at that. Worry echoed in his mind and showed in his face before he could hide it. “You said my magic needed to heal….” His voice came out high and reedy, and Gellert caught the real worries in the boy’s mind. Foremost among them was his fear of failure. Credence lacked a lot in experience, but he wasn’t completely naive. He knew that Gellert was offering to teach him for a reason, and if Credence couldn’t learn, if he was too hurt to use his magic anymore and if Gellert decided to leave him behind after all, then he could neither lash out to protect himself again nor offer Gellert what he wanted. It was a shock of fear, the potential to be both defenceless and useless. And underneath all that still, this place was so welcoming and so beautiful that Credence feared his sick, parasitic version of magic wouldn’t work here, as though on principle alone. 

“Even the weakest of wizards would be able to perform some magic here,” Gellert reassured the boy, running his hands over Credence’s shoulders and bending down on one knee in front of him. “I don’t expect you to amaze me. I only expect you to try. Can you do that for me?” 

Credence frowned. His first instinct was to declare that if he did, he wouldn’t be doing it for Gellert, but caught the retort before it passed his lips. He shied away from eye contact, but it wasn’t because of the new face Gellert wore. Gellert had to squeeze the boy’s shoulders to prompt him out of his silence. Credence bit his lip. “I’ve never…cast any spells before,” he said, so quiet only the light breeze carried his voice. “I don’t know how. I just…all I have is…isn’t right.” All Credence knew how to do was turn the hate inside him outward and use it to hurt people. He could barely admit it, even though Gellert was already very aware, and shame burned in the pit of his stomach. 

Gellert reached up to caress Credence’s cheek. “That’s what I’m here for.” The boy finally let their eyes meet and Gellert made sure he didn’t look away again. He caught strange, stray thoughts from Credence’s mind about how the way his new face didn’t take away the familiarity of his expressions, things the boy would never ever say aloud, especially now. Gellert resisted commenting on it. “You’re going to have to listen and do what I tell you to do,” he said instead, giving the boy a measured look. 

Credence frowned again, but nodded. There were limits, hard limits, to the boy’s obedience, Gellert knew already, but this was something. This was progress. The possibility of doing magic was a very strong draw for Credence. Even though he no longer needed to escape his mother’s rule, there was much he still feared, and not the least of which was Gellert himself. 

A smile twitched at the corner of Gellert’s mouth. “Good. Very good.” 

He rose and led Credence along the path, keeping the boy close beside him. They passed through lush foliage and the rustling sounds of creatures hidden from their sight, and whenever Credence jumped at a new sound, Gellert squeezed his hand. Their path came upon a clearing after a few minutes, and Gellert led Credence to the middle of the open space. He undid his cuffs and the top button of his collar, aware of Credence watching him as he stretched and let himself breathe more freely. The heat would see them sweating under the layers of their shirts and waistcoats soon, and the breeze felt better this way. He rolled up his sleeves and nodded to the boy. “You see the tall grass behind you?” Gellert asked and Credence followed his gaze. 

There was a small thicket with reedy stalks sprouting up from the ground at about Credence’s chest height. He glanced back and Gellert raised his hand. With just a thought, the patch was slashed in half. Credence’s back stiffened. It was a clean cut, all the reeds at an even height and it had taken no more than an instant. If Credence had blinked, he would have missed it. “You’re going to teach me to…to cut things?” Credence asked, unsure if this was some kind of trap. 

“Absolutely.” Gellert moved to his side and inclined his head, smiling down at the boy before he bent to Credence’s ear. “If you think you can use it on me, you’d find yourself very disappointed.” Credence stiffened, but Gellert put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and turned him towards another patch of tall grass. “Do your best to relax,” he said, softening his tone from the warning he’d just issued the boy. “This will be very different from casting in our world. Remember, all you need do here is push your will upon the object you wish to affect. It helps to visualise such a force with your hands, rather than a wand.” Credence let him lift the boy’s hand up and direct it towards the grass, holding it palm open as Gellert had done. “You need only intent. Strong intent.” Gellert bent down to Credence’s ear. “Think of it as a desire to cleave the stalks in half and push out with it. Picture it in your mind, the force of your will, like a blade, slicing through the middle, right there.” 

Credence nearly closed his eyes trying to focus on pushing with his will, but quickly determined that would impede his efforts to visualize the action. He was so unused to forcing his will upon anything, especially not when he wasn’t already in a state of agitation, and Gellert could feel the reflexive urge to hold back within him. Credence tried to draw on the kind of power he’d felt before, but he didn’t think that was right. He didn’t know what would happen if he let the darkness inside him escape here, if he lost his body here. That also wasn’t the kind of magic that Gellert wanted him to use. His hand shook in the air as he tried to find the will to do what was asked of him. His eyes narrowed, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his whole body tightened, but eventually Credence knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

Stiffly, he lowered his arm. “I don’t think I can,” he said with eyes on the ground and fear clamouring loud in his mind. Frustration, too. Frustration that he couldn’t do it, and fear that Gellert would abandon him just like he’d done before. Credence’s whole body was braced for it, half expecting a slap against the side of his head, or the cold disdain of announced failure. He half expected Gellert to tell him that if he couldn’t even manage the first spell he was taught, then it wasn’t worth it to stay. They’d leave, go back to Berlin, and Gellert would turn him into a servant like Gwendoline. _And never speak to him like an equal again._

Gellert caught the last thought like a wisp of smoke in Credence’s mind. He bent down to his knee and pulled the boy against him again, his arms wrapping loosely around Credence’s chest, just holding him. “That’s okay,” Gellert said softly, resting his chin over Credence’s shoulder. “There’s no shame in failure while learning. How would anyone ever do anything otherwise?” 

Credence flinched. He hadn’t been expecting kindness, and Gellert could feel the way that hurt almost as much as rejection would have. Gellert was acting so much like the way he’d been as Mr. Graves, and Credence wanted to believe it so badly. So badly it hurt. 

“Shh….” Gellert pressed his lips to the boy’s ear when Credence’s breath hitched at the turmoil inside him. “You’re nervous. We both know your will is strong enough, more than strong enough. You just don’t believe you’re allowed to let it out, do you?” 

Credence hung his head and Gellert could hear the tiny sound of teeth chattering as Credence tried to hold everything back, what a failure he was, that even if he could lash out sometimes it was hopeless to want for anything more. Gellert spread his hands over the boy’s chest, and with his front pressed to the boy’s back, he became a wall for Credence to lean against in either direction. He could feel the boy’s heart beating wildly at first, but after they stood like that for a while, it began to steady. 

“If you won’t allow yourself to use your own will, use mine instead.” Gellert threaded his fingers through Credence’s and raised the boy’s arm again, this time not letting go. “Don’t fight yourself,” he breathed into Credence’s ear. “Don’t ask for permission. You don’t need it when you’re doing this for me. _I_ do not need permission, not for anything.” 

Credence drew in a breath and his back straightened at Gellert’s words. Already, Gellert felt the change inside the boy’s head. It resonated with him, having someone to guide him, having someone not only to follow, but to work for. So often, Credence felt his own wants and desires weren’t good enough, that he was only worth fighting for when he’d been left abandoned by everyone else, never worth usurping someone else’s wellbeing, whether it be human, animal, or apparently even a few plants. Or perhaps it was the very idea of imposing his will on others who hadn’t hurt him, the very idea of performing a spell that could slice a person to shreds as easily as it was used for any number of things. _If Credence wasn’t doing it for himself, then it was ok._ He didn’t have to make the decision. He didn’t have to be responsible. He didn’t have to do anything except hold his hand out and feel Mr. Graves—or, Mr. Grindelwald’s—body, solid and warm, behind him, whispering his desire into Credence’s ear, and just…imagine the stalks…falling. 

A soft _snik_ cut through the quiet of the clearing, and the tall grass fell in one swoop as cleanly as Gellert had done it. 

Gellert let out a laugh of triumph and for the briefest moment, Credence’s face cleared of all worry and frustration and shone bright with undiluted astonishment. Gellert wrapped Credence in his arms and kissed the boy’s cheek. “ _Fantastic_. You did it. That was all you, Credence.” 

A note of uncertainty passed across Credence’s face as their eyes met. He took a deep breath and focused instead on Gellert’s open shirt collar, fixating there with partly numb fascination and partial avoidance. “But I was thinking about….” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Gellert interrupted smoothly, lifting Credence’s chin with a finger. “It doesn’t matter what it took to get you there, only that you did it.” The corner of his mouth lifted and Credence didn’t try to look away again. Slowly, Credence nodded. Accepting that he had done it, even with a little imagined help, was a very good first step. At least they knew now that Credence could still access his magic. That even though he was afraid of letting the obscurus out again, that he had not sapped all that potential while regaining a younger likeness of his human form. Gellert knew it was going to be a long wait to test the real breadth of Credence’s power, but this was as good of a start as he’d hoped for. “Why don’t we try again?” He squeezed Credence’s palm, a quiet assurance to the boy that he wasn’t about to leave Credence on his own. He would guide the boy’s hand and let him lean on Gellert for as long as he needed. 

After a moment’s pause, Credence nodded again. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and let Gellert steer him towards another small thicket of grass. Again, Gellert raised their entwined hands and held Credence solidly against him. Credence’s breathing steadied. He didn’t try to hunch or close his eyes this time, not when Gellert was directing him. 

“Good,” Gellert breathed into the nape of the boy’s neck. “Focus on me. Let my voice calm you. Just like last time, I want you to cut down that patch for me. All of it. I don’t want to see a single blade left standing. Can you do that for me now?” 

Credence swallowed and shivered. His heart pounded against Gellert’s palm, but it wasn’t from fear now. Credence’s mind was a jumble of feeling, but his thoughts had focused narrowly down to Gellert’s instruction, pushing everything else out of the way. Credence liked the quiet focus in his head, Gellert realised. Underneath all the anger and betrayal, a part of Credence still wanted to submit. He wanted to find his freedom in letting Gellert take control. It was such a foreign experience to Gellert’s own mind, but coming from Credence…it quickly threatened to become intoxicating. 

Credence relaxed and with a small sigh, the thicket of grass before them fell away with the same silent force. 

Gellert grinned, still feeling the high coming from Credence’s mind. “Magnificent.” He slid his hand down Credence’s chest and felt the boy draw in breath. Credence was still staring at the grass. He’d worked himself into such a focus, found such comfort in letting everything else fall away, that he didn’t realise the good feeling massaging down his abdomen was Gellert’s palm at first. Distantly, he knew the touch was a reward, but it wasn’t until Gellert let his fingers slide against the hem of Credence’s trousers that the boy blinked. 

Gellert didn’t need to look down to see that Credence was sporting an erection, so he pretended not to notice. He left his hand at the boy’s hip instead and squeezed his shoulder with the other. “I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble learning more,” he said while Credence quickly became aware of his own body. “It’s different, performing spells in our world. This particular spell is a charm called diffindo that requires a wand movement and the spell spoken aloud. But practicing like this will give you a more _intimate_ sense of the magic. It’ll make the Latin roots and all the wand waving easier later.” 

Credence swallowed and nodded, but his limbs had gone a bit stiff. Very likely, he wasn’t so sure remaining in Gellert’s arms was a good idea in his predicament, so Gellert decided to take pity on him. “Let’s find some place in the shade to practice, and you can see how much you can do on your own, shall we?” 

“Okay.” Credence breathed a little easier when Gellert let him go. The boy stepped away on wobbly legs while Gellert climbed to his feet and he couldn’t help smiling at the sight. Credence’s gaze caught on the opposite end of the clearing they’d entered, where the path continued. There was a touch of curiosity in him now. “That way?”

Gellert just kept smiling and squeezed Credence’s shoulder while he led them out of the sun. 

Credence grew more relaxed by degrees. His embarrassment ebbed away when Gellert continued to say nothing about the near encounter they’d had in the clearing, and Credence didn’t shy away from practicing more once they’d found a shadier location. Gellert had him progress from thickets of grass to sturdier targets—bushes and small trees, mostly. He knew Credence would shy away from performing the spell on anything living, even with Gellert whispering in his ear. 

Gradually though, the practicing began to tire Credence, and Gellert found another little clearing, speckled with sunlight, next to a stream for Credence to lay down. The grass grew tall there, and it provided a comfortable place to sit and rest. The water was clear enough for Credence to put his hands in the stream and drink from, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. 

“You’ve never tasted water like that, have you?” Gellert asked, leaning against a nearby tree and watching with quiet amusement. 

Credence shook his head, too tired and too relaxed for his guard to be up anymore. “We never had anything like this in New York.” He seemed fascinated just by letting his hands run through the stream, pushing his fingers into the pebbles below and finding the water still just as clear, like it had come straight from a mountain top. 

Gellert decided to let the boy be for a while. He knelt down beside the stream, catching Credence’s eye. “There’s something I need to check while we’re here. Can you stay here and rest while I’m gone? It shouldn’t take long.” 

Credence searched his face, still finding his lighter complexion new and strange, although not unwelcome, but the boy nodded. He would have been wary at the start, but he didn’t think the sound of rest seemed so bad just then, and if Gellert had asked him to do more walking, Credence would have probably been too tired. “Just…don’t leave?” Credence asked, his voice unusually small, even for him. 

Gellert reached out and brushed his fingers through Credence’s hair. “I won’t leave.” He gave the boy a smile, and when Credence returned the gesture, he stood. 

Credence watched him go until he was out of sight, swallowed up in the dense greenery of the woods. Gellert felt the boy’s mind fade away into nothing more than an echo and then silence. He kept walking as the forest began to change around him, growing thicker. Vines curled at his heels, cascading along the path behind him while trees bent lower after he passed, obscuring the path and closing him in from any prying eyes should the boy’s curiosity get the better of him. 

Once Gellert had secluded himself well enough, he approached a small pond with water just as clear as the stream where he’d left Credence, but still as the lake. He found a comfortable rock and sat down beside it, reaching out with a hand over the surface of the water and pulling it upright as though it were a pane of dripping glass that had been sitting atop the pond. With another wave of his hand, the suspended water began to swirl until hazy images appeared on its surface, mostly unrecognizable, craggy masses of land. 

Gellert moved across continents and oceans with flicks of his fingers until he narrowed it down to what he wanted, a slim strip of land running parallel to the Hudson River. That was where he began the real search. Familiar streets passed through the pane of water, followed quickly by familiar faces moving through the interiors of buildings he’d come to know quite well. He moved through the Woolworth building, feeling for the magical signatures he could recognize as well as the faces of those he was looking for, but Madam Picquery was nowhere to be found in its premises. He found she was not at home either, and not even her more than comfortable apartment could keep him out. 

He was forced to settle in for the more tedious route, searching along the city block by block for the sense of magical signatures he recognised. He found MACUSA drones clustered around the city, going about their daily lives entirely unaware they were being spied from another realm. They led him on pointless chases, thinking he felt something familiar only to find another one of the multitudes of faces he’d seen day in and day out, but eventually, he came upon a small cluster that caught his attention. 

They were gathered in the lobby of one of the buildings by the park, an apartment building if Gellert was not mistaken, although he did not recognise it as being one of MACUSA’s. What caught his attention specifically, however, was not just that there were four MACUSA employees waiting there, but that the four of them were all trained bodyguards. Picquery’s men. 

Knowing she wouldn’t be far, he scanned through floor after floor, scouring through the lives of a dozen muggles and a few witches and wizards who took residence there, until he landed in an apartment on the west side, containing two very familiar occupants locked in conversation—Madam Picquery in a sharp, flowing jacket and trousers, pacing in front of the fireplace, her hand rubbing at her chin in a rare show of expression, and, to Gellert’s surprise, Percival Graves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit from Credence's POV this time, and things are finally starting to heat up.

Gellert had thought they would have surely had this conversation already, but perhaps he’d been wrong. As he watched Picquery pace, Graves leaned forward on his elbows, his head bent and appearing too heavy for his neck to properly watch her as she moved. He was well dressed and looked like he’d shaved recently, but he seemed tired. It resonated in every detail of his body language. Either he hadn’t been sleeping, or he had only just recently been brought out of the spell Gellert had left him under. Typical MACUSA incompetence, if the latter were true, Gellert thought to himself. If they hadn’t any healers powerful enough to break his spell, Graves would have run the risk of passing the threshold of the magic’s abilities to keep him in stasis. Gellert knew they had wizards and witches skilled enough to do it. The only reason it would have taken that long had to be through sheer bureaucratic stupidity. 

But Graves did look whole again, if not exactly alert. The man rubbed his palm over his forehead and retrained his eyes on Picquery. “Look,” he said, interrupting her thoughts after she’d gone quiet. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I want to. I really, _really_ want to.” Their eyes met and held that way for a long moment. “I’d come back in right now if you let me. I mean that. Keep the investigation going, do whatever you need to, but let me _work_. You don’t know how badly I want to see him caught. I want it more than anyone on that goddamn team you’ve got running up and down the coast.” He folded his hands unconsciously while he spoke, the gesture almost making him look like he were praying to the muggle God. Really, it was a matter of the tension within him having nowhere to go. His shoulders and neck were taut with it. It was clear in the way he didn’t move much, but twitched like he wanted to and was trying to control himself. 

Picquery nodded. “I know you want to come back. But you know I can’t allow it. And if you can’t give me anything here, then you still wouldn’t be able to give me anything down at headquarters, nothing that we’ve already got, anyway.” 

Graves sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, the strangely lethargic movements of his limbs somewhat off-putting to watch. 

Picquery took a step towards him and folded her arms loosely at her chest, her method of showing camaraderie while still keeping her associates at arm’s length. “I suspected this would be the case after we found you with your memories intact, and alive,” she admitted. “Grindelwald isn’t known for leaving loose ends.” 

Her words didn’t seem to be a comfort for Graves. He broke their gaze and leaned back into the couch with a sigh, looking…ashamed, if anything. 

“I meant that this is formality, not that you could have done anything more and ended up risking your life,” she added, frowning. She’d caught on to his train of thought. “And we have to be sure that he hasn’t implanted anything into your mind that we aren’t aware of. So far, all your medical evaluations have checked out, but there have been cases involving a skilled legilimens leaving hidden memories to surface later, or even fabricating memories, and such a case could be very inconvenient for the both of us.” 

Graves snorted, dropping his arms down to his sides in defeat. “You think I could be a mole even if I don’t know it yet.” She didn’t back down, but her lips thinned. “How much time, then? How much time do you need to determine if I’ve been secretly brainwashed to attack the whole of MACUSA the next time I step through the door? If the healers haven’t found evidence of anything like that already, why would they the next time they check me out, or the time after that?” 

Picquery shook her head. “I know. Look, it’s only one possibility of many, and we have to consider as much as possible before you can come back.” 

“I _am_ coming back though, right?” Graves interrupted her, looking a little desperate now, leaning forward again with his brows raised and his shoulders hunched. 

It was probably not a look Picquery was used to seeing on him. She gave a small nod and her mouth tightened. “That’s the plan. I’ll do my very best to see that it happens. Barring no evidence of a remaining threat, it will. Just…sit tight. And go over the files I gave you. I’d like to hear your input if you can lend any. And just so you’re caught up on what’s happened while you’ve been out of commission. You’ll need it when you get back.” Picquery’s smiles were always few and far between and never very wide unless she was off the clock, but she offered one to Graves then. 

He accepted it with a frown, but no further argument. “I’ll let you know if I find anything, then.” He sounded agreeable enough, but still just as tired. 

Picquery raised her head, adjusting her posture. “Thank you.” It was one of her little idiosyncrasies that she never said thank you without everyone in the room knowing she was not solely depending on them, even if the thanks was sincere. It was one of those traits that Gellert understood well and still annoyed him to no end. Graves didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll be in touch again soon, I imagine. Just call if you need anything. I’ll have it seen to.” 

Graves nodded, not really looking at her anymore. He looked like his mind was already somewhere else, very likely on the near future. It appeared that an investigation involving him was underway and this apartment was likely his in the interim. It didn’t look like he’d furnished it, nor had brought over any of his things. Poor Percy must have been feeling very out of place indeed. 

Picquery glanced at the fireplace, but she didn’t turn to leave just yet. “Do you…have anyone to talk to?” she asked, sounding relaxed enough to anyone who didn’t know the both of them. She was sincere, but she was speaking to Graves, after all, and Graves was not known for sharing his personal life at work. Most people assumed he had one, but that they simply were never invited to see it. Most of the time this wasn’t a problem. Picquery herself appeared to have close ties with her family, but her work still took precedent. 

Finally, he looked up and gave her a very strained, very false smile. “I’ll manage.” He didn’t drop it until she nodded, a crease forming between her brows, but she said nothing further. 

She gathered her coat from the rack and slipped it on in silence before straightening again. “Very well. I’ll take my leave then. Just be sure you do contact me if you find anything.” 

Percival stood to wish her goodbye as she went to the door, although no more pleasantries were shared between them apart from a nod and a quiet “Thank you,” from Graves before she left. 

Two more members of her security team waited in the hall for her and one of them raised his wand with a quick incantation to let the others down in the lobby know they were leaving before they apparated out. 

Gellert supposed he had gotten what he wanted—an update on the state of MACUSA from Picquery herself, and it didn’t sound like they had much to go on if they were still looking for him along the coast, but curiosity brought him back into Graves’ apartment. He found the man still standing beside the door, rubbing his temple, before he turned back and headed listlessly into the kitchen. 

Graves glanced at the pantry, but went for the half finished pot of coffee and poured himself a mug after dumping out what must have been the cold remnants of an earlier cup. He then moved to the dining table where a stack of files sat in a neat pile, and picked one from the top. 

Gellert wasn’t going to get much out of this unless he hovered over Graves’ shoulder to read page after page, and he already knew everything that was in those files, but he lingered anyway, just watching as Graves sipped his coffee and folded one page over after the next in a slow, methodical rhythm. Graves was desperate to get back to work, that was more than apparent. Gellert could only imagine what the man would say if he knew he was being watched. He’d always been so delightfully angry when he was backed into a corner. 

Gellert had several reasons for choosing him to impersonate, first and foremost his position within MACUSA. More than that, however, it had been _easy_ to play Graves. Easier than it would have been for many other employees in high ranking positions. Graves projected an air of being all-business, but the unique bits of his personality that showed, Gellert had been able to appreciate. Graves liked being in control. He liked things done neat and done well, but he was not always a stickler for the rules either. The real Graves would likely have not demoted the Goldstein woman for interfering with muggles even if she botched it so badly that half a dozen of them needed obliviating, and Gellert knew it, but it suited his ends. Graves was certainly not hard on the eyes, either, and after a time of getting to know the man, his opinion of Graves had not changed. Which was rare. 

It was unfortunate that he could not persuade the man to join him in the end, Gellert thought, musing over the way Graves was preparing to pursue him now after wanting nothing more than to be free of him for so long. Graves would have been a worthy addition to his side, but turning him was a moot point now. Not when he had what he’d been searching for in the first place. The potential Credence had inside himself and the boy’s beauty were more than enough to keep him from mourning the loss. 

When Gellert decided he’d been gone long enough, he let the image fade away and the water melt back into the pond. The sun was still high in the sky when he glimpsed it through the trees on his way back, ferns and vines unfolding from the path before him until he was no longer hidden. 

He made his way back to the little clearing where he’d left Credence, catching the trickle of the stream before anything else. He hoped the boy had not wandered off, but to his surprise, instead found Credence curled up in one of the sunny patches of grass, fast asleep. 

Evidently, Credence had needed the rest. 

Gellert sat down beside him and watched his slender chest rise and fall. The sounds of the birds didn’t wake him, nor did Gellert’s presence as he settled, letting himself lay down beside Credence. The grass was as comfortable as it looked, and if Gellert had had a mind to, he probably could have fallen asleep there as well. He’d been gone for maybe thirty minutes and Credence was already deep under, his plush lips parted and his breaths coming deep and evenly, one hand curled up next to his forehead and the other clutched at his chest. He might have been a slumbering fawn, Gellert mused, a small smile drawing across his mouth at the thought of stumbling upon Credence like this by happenstance. The boy was likely getting the best sleep he’d gotten in the past couple days. It was hard not to remember the feel of being curled up behind him on the bed, convincing him to come to this place. Gellert remembered kissing the back of Credence’s neck and imagining those soft lips against his own when he’d turned Credence to look at him. 

He imagined it now. Even though Credence’s eyes were closed and his face was lax with sleep, he looked content. He may still have been curled in on himself, but there was no tension in him while asleep. He was comfortable, completely relaxed, and his mind was a quiet hum of the sensation more than actual thought. Gellert found that he was leaning in before he’d even meant to, brushing his lips against Credence’s cheek, the bone still prominent even with youth. When Credence did not wake and did not react, Gellert moved down a little farther and pressed his lips to Credence’s in a chaste, exploratory kiss. 

Credence’s lips were softer than anything he could remember feeling, and when he moved to get more of the exquisite sensation, he felt Credence’s lips brush against his own in return. And then the boy’s eyes were opening, blinking blearily at him. Gellert drew back a few inches, not wanting to startle Credence, and ran his hand along the boy’s side to sooth him. Credence seemed more confused than startled though and all his attention fixed on Gellert’s small smile. 

“Time to wake up,” Gellert said softly, brushing his fingertips through Credence’s hair. Surprisingly, the boy blushed then, as though just coming out of a stupor and only then noticing that he should be embarrassed. Gellert’s smile widened. “Comfortable?”

Credence nodded, unsure if he could speak, like he was afraid it would break the spell of tranquillity over this place, or perhaps just between them. Unsure what to do, just like all those times they met and Gellert held him close back in New York, he waited for Gellert to make the first move. 

“You looked like it. All curled up in this sunny spot. Your cheek is going to be rosy red by the time we get back,” Gellert mused, rubbing his thumb over it, and indeed Credence’s cheeks were red, but not from the sun yet. 

Credence bit his lip and glanced down and then back up again. Gellert wasn’t mentioning the kiss, and so Credence wasn’t going to either, and judging from the boy’s thoughts it didn’t seem that he judged Gellert’s attentions to be threatening just then, but there was something else…. “Can we stay?” Credence asked. “Just a little longer?” He gazed up at Gellert, eyes imploring as ever, presenting an image that was very difficult to turn down. 

Gellert’s smile turned wry. “Alright then. Just a little.” If he wasn’t mistaken, Credence smiled back at him before the boy caught himself and ducked his head down to hide between his wrist and the grass. Gellert didn’t stop stroking his hand over Credence’s hair, moving occasionally to his side and his back, until the boy turned a little to give him better access. 

Credence’s eyes closed again, but it wasn’t to sleep. He was letting himself relax in Gellert’s presence for the first time without any real reason to do so. He didn’t need to learn anything or impress anyone. All it had taken was a bit of affection, real this time, and a peaceful environment, and Credence was spreading out under his hands. Granted, Gellert was under the impression Credence was separating this in his mind from the reality he’d known for the past day in Berlin, and when they returned, he might not be so easy to cajole. 

They spent a long time like that, laying and resting in the speckled sunlight, until that sunlight turned from bright yellow to orange hues upon the leaves and grass around them and Credence began to think about drifting off again. 

Eventually, Gellert roused him with a squeeze to his shoulder. “It’s time to be getting back,” he told the boy. “Time moves differently here, and it’s far past your bedtime.” He smiled when Credence whined and closed his eyes shut again, both not wanting to get up and not wanting to be teased like a child, but Gellert wasn’t going to have it. He drew Credence up in his arms, letting his legs wrap around Gellert’s waist and settling him against his shoulder. Credence didn’t protest this time. Even though the position emphasised just how small he was, he was content to let Gellert carry him back to the boat. Physical contact and comfort like this had been so rare that he very often didn’t know what to do with it at first, but when it happened, Credence tended to soak it up as much as he could for as long as he could. 

When they found the lake again and Gellert settled him down in the boat, Credence had roused himself enough to sit up straight and look around. Gellert helped him back into his coat and mittens, folding the scarf around Credence’s neck while the boy did his buttons up, and then Gellert pulled on his own winter clothing. The heat of it was slightly oppressive, but he knew Credence would rather have his coat on before they entered the cold again than after. The boy’s eyelids drooped as they pushed off from the shore, snug as he was in so many layers, and Gellert couldn’t help but find it endearing. 

They crossed the lake just as smoothly and steadily as they had done before, and only the rise of the bridge ahead of them managed to catch Credence’s attention. The sun had lowered, but it’s perfect circle had not changed, and only a glimpse of the lake beyond could be seen through it. Just like the other side, it was impossible to tell there was any difference at all just by looking through the stone arch and its reflection.

They passed under the arch just as easily as they had entered. The change was almost imperceptible if one were to close their eyes. As it was, however, they moved from a late sunny afternoon to almost complete darkness on the other side. Gellert could now see his breath in the air and feel the soft bite of the cold. He drew his wand and cast a lumos charm to light their way while Credence pulled his arms in a little closer and watched his own breath, released in white exhalations against the contrast of the darkness. 

They glided to the opposite shore in silence, Credence turning back more than once to stare at the stone circle, now just a dark outline, like he might have glimpsed the summer paradise concealed beyond it. When they reached the shore, Gellert bound the little boat to one of the trees again and helped Credence out. This time they had to be more careful to avoid the water, but Gellert’s legs were long enough and Credence allowed himself to be carried once more until his feet were planted on solid ground.

The boy gave a shiver once he was set down, and tried to peer into the darkness all around them. Dark thoughts crept back into his mind—of creatures lurking in the thick branches of trees just out of sight, of being out that far from civilisation alone, and even of returning to the flat in Berlin, so far away from everything he’d known. 

Gellert closed his eyes and let the form of Graves slide over his features, thinking both to comfort the boy and knowing that he would have to be in disguise for their return to the city. Credence watched the transformation with a crease in his brows and mind ringing with quiet, but somewhat wary, fascination. Gellert wondered if the change was starting to unsettle him now that he’d spent several hours with Gellert not wearing the disguise, but he knew that deep down, Credence was still very much mentally imprinted on the idea of the man he’d known as Mr. Graves and it wouldn’t do to take that away from him just yet. 

Gellert held his hand out for the boy. “Let’s get back, shall we?” Credence only hesitated a little before he took it and let himself be pulled close to Gellert’s side before they apparated away. 

They appeared along the side of one of the many roads just outside of Berlin and Gellert pulled the disillusionment charm over them both. Credence stayed close by, trying to keep up as well as he could. After a few minutes of walking, Gellert noticed him stumble and have a harder time keeping up, so he took hold of Credence’s hand and lifted the boy into his arms. Credence didn’t resist. He laid his head on Gellert’s shoulder with a sigh and relaxed, too worn out from the day to think of much else. Gellert had forgotten what it was like to be that small. More than that, Credence’s magic had drained quickly and he was still recovering, physically, from his battle with MACUSA. After a few more minutes, the boy was fast asleep in his arms and not even the automobiles in the city roused him when they finally arrived. 

Once they were past the wards, Gellert apparated them back into the flat. For a moment he stood in the hall, reluctant to wake Credence in order to take off his coat and send him to bed. It seemed a strange impulse at first, not wanting to wake the boy as though it was an inconvenience, but Gellert realised he didn’t want to send the boy to bed alone, and if he did wake him, he would have no excuse not to. So, carefully, he removed the boy’s scarf and mittens, and then brought him down the hall past the boy’s bedroom and into his own. 

Gellert laid Credence down on the bed and gently removed his coat so as not to rouse him any further than he needed to. Credence’s eyes fluttered open and his mind caught on hazy images in the dark of the room. He wasn’t sure where he was, but it was someplace warm and Gellert made his hands as soft as they could be when pulling off the boy’s shoes and unbuttoning his waistcoat. Gellert removed his own coat and most of his outer clothing that would have been uncomfortable to sleep in before sliding into the bed behind Credence, wrapping him up in his arms again. 

Credence stirred a little and Gellert caught snippets of the boy half-heartedly trying to make sense of where he was and what was going on, but the comfort of a soft bed and Gellert’s warm arms around him was a strong diversion. Credence drifted back into slumber in only a few minutes and Gellert was left to enjoy the comfort of his small body while he trusted just enough in sleep that Gellert wouldn’t harm him. 

Gellert nuzzled against the back of Credence’s head, feeling the soft hair against his nose and mouth and remembering the way Credence arched against him in his first few lessons of performing magic. It couldn’t have been more perfect had Gellert planned that day weeks in advance. The way Credence depended on him from his home and hospitality to his very will to perform the most simple of spells, and yet Credence had the potential for so much…Gellert couldn’t have asked for more. 

Yet more he found he wanted. More, he’d always wanted, even when he’d thought Credence a squib and had been slightly disgusted with himself. The boy had certainly been a beautiful squib, he’d reasoned. Now, however, there was really nothing in the way of his desires but Credence himself. And that was truly unfortunate considering the way their relationship had been not so long ago. Credence had been all but begging Gellert to take him away and do whatever he liked with the boy. And Credence’s new appearance only made the prospect that much more enticing. The thought of those soft lips against his own again, or letting his hands wander down Credence’s body, dipping lower than they ever had before…. Gellert breathed out softly and held the boy tight against him, but forced himself to move no further than that. Having Credence this close was both a delight and a torture, but he still preferred this to letting Credence back to his own bed. He was stiffening in his trousers just thinking about it, but still Gellert did not move to touch any more of the boy in his arms. Credence allowed most of his touches already, even when angry. If it continued that way, he doubted it would be long before Credence might allow more. And he did need the boy to allow it. Losing Credence’s trust that drastically again was out of the question. 

Gellert resigned himself to enjoying only this much, just holding Credence and thinking of the nights to come. Eventually he was able to relax and will away most of the arousal, but it was a while more before he finally found sleep.

* * *

Credence opened his eyes for the second time in so many days not knowing where he was. He was warm though, very warm, and comfortable. It took him a moment to realise he wasn’t alone, that he was not only wrapped in blankets, but also heavy arms. Someone was laying behind him and he had no idea what to do. 

Tentatively, he turned just enough to catch a glimpse of a broad shoulder and above that dark hair and stubble across a very familiar cheek before he caught his breath in his throat, recognising Mr. Graves. _Not Mr. Graves,_ he had to remind himself, remembering the day prior, the man bringing him to that place where everything felt like magic and Credence hadn’t been as hopeless as he’d thought, and Mr. Graves had shown his real face. Mr. Graves didn’t look like that now though. Even in sleep, he looked just like the man Credence remembered, except strangely relaxed in a way Credence had never seen before when he was awake. It was almost unsettling to see Mr. Graves, usually so alert and in control of everything, unconscious. 

Credence remembered them leaving the bridge and Kromlau last night. He vaguely remembered the door of the flat closing and his mittens and coat being removed in the dark. He must not be in the room Mr. Graves had given to him, he reasoned, noting in the low light through the drawn curtains that this one was furnished with a dresser and mirror and a writing desk and other items that made up a much more lived-in atmosphere. This had to be Mr. Graves’—Grindelwald’s—room. The name came to him again suddenly. He’d forgotten to think it since last night. It was strange how the name felt more like ice running down his spine than the memory of the man’s real face did. The different appearance seemed more like a mask, but the different name made Credence feel like he didn’t know him at all. 

He did though, Credence reminded himself. Sort of. There were things about this man he’d put together—that he was a powerful wizard, that he must have done something horrible to make the organisation of wizards the real Mr. Graves and Tina—that was the woman’s name—worked for put him in prison, and that he’d pretended to work with them and called himself Mr. Graves for a long time without being noticed. It was all part of the machinations of a world Credence didn’t know. Grindelwald had made it sound like most wizards worked together back in New York, made it sound like he was looking for a child to save them all, but Credence now realised that must have been a lie, too. It didn’t seem like Grindelwald was hiding here, exactly, but they were very far away now. And Credence didn’t know if it mattered. He wasn’t sure whether he was a prisoner here or not. Grindelwald didn’t treat him like one so far, exactly, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to leave either. Credence didn’t think that had anything to do with whoever might be searching for Grindelwald. He suspected that the man wanted him for the power he supposedly still had, or might have, just like Grindelwald had always wanted, and he didn’t know how long it would be before the man could tell. 

Credence laid back down, careful not to wake his companion. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he could go back to New York and he didn’t know if he should be afraid of the wizards there, but he suspected if they knew who he was, they’d go after him again just like the last time. Or maybe they wouldn’t if he could control the thing inside him. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what Grindelwald would do with him eventually, either. Even if Credence could give the man what he wanted. He’d been mostly nice yesterday, but…. That could change. He could turn on Credence again. He’d done it once. And Credence was very good at disappointing people. Nearly everyone he’d ever known, in fact. He curled in on himself and wondered what it would be like to disappoint Grindelwald again. The thought of it, the memory of it already having happened, sank into him like a physical force as he stared blankly ahead. His gaze caught on the desk where there were scattered quills and pieces of parchment and what looked like a few envelopes and a wax stamp, too, but his attention stopped on the letter opener. 

Credence had wanted to hurt Mr. Graves before. He’d wanted to do more than that, much more, and that feeling was easy to recall as soon as he thought about it. He had let Grindelwald take him where he wanted yesterday. He’d let that feeling go when the man had offered him kindness and affection. Strange affection. Hints of the kind Credence had always wanted from him, yet never dared to ask for. The kind Credence feared Grindelwald had never really wanted from him in the first place, and certainly wouldn’t when he was this young. But that didn’t erase everything Grindelwald had done to him otherwise. That didn’t take the hurt away. And that didn’t take away the fact that he might be a prisoner here, or become one soon if it wasn’t already explicit. 

Credence chewed on his lip before he made a decision. His stomach flipped with the weight of it and he glanced back at Grindelwald again, making sure the man was asleep and, carefully, pulling himself out of the man’s arms. Credence’s feet hit the cold floor, and thankfully the wood didn’t creak with his weight. He kept one eye on the slumbering form and moved towards the desk. Moving slowly so that he didn’t touch anything he didn’t need, Credence reached up and slipped the letter opener out of its holder. He settled quietly back onto his feet and for a moment, couldn’t move again. 

The little knife gleamed in his hand. There was barely any light from the morning sun filtering into the room, but somehow this blade caught it. It transfixed Credence nearly as much as the weight in his gut. He could run. He could run and get caught, either by the police or by this man again, and he didn’t know if Grindelwald would be so nice then. Credence had killed a person before, more than once, in fact, but he’d never really been himself when it had happened. He knew there were other wizards who wanted the man pretending to be Mr. Graves dead, or maybe locked away, but maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions if it happened anyway. They weren’t really the ones Credence was worried about now, however. 

Just as slowly as he’d left, Credence went back to the bed and climbed up. He didn’t take his eyes off the man, watching for the barest hint of change, any sign he might wake up, but there were none. Credence knelt where he’d lain minutes ago with Grindelwald’s arms still folded loosely over the bed beside him, breath still coming deep and steady and nearly silent. Credence feared he would open his eyes at any moment. He feared that he’d be caught in the act like this and he knew it was best to do what he planned to do quickly before there was any chance of that happening. Wizards bled. Wizards had flesh and bone bodies just like everyone else and Credence knew they could die. All it would take was a clean cut through the throat. He’d have to use all his strength. He’d probably have to stab the man rather than slice like a real knife. 

Credence stared at Grindelwald’s neck and clutched the letter opener tight, trying to work up the nerve. His hands started to shake. He tried to make himself move, just do it, just stop thinking, just find that place in his head that let him be free in his anger and his hurt and not care about the way Grindelwald had never looked so unlike the cold man he’d shown Credence as he did now. Sitting there with a knife over Grindelwald’s neck, Credence realised he wanted to believe the man was telling the truth this time, but Credence didn’t want to be wrong. He could really kill him, right now, but it had never before struck him so much how he didn’t want to. 

Credence took a deep breath, unable to avoid the hitch, and lowered the knife. Before he could calm himself, before he could slip off the bed and put it back where he’d found it like nothing had ever happened, a large hand caught his wrist. Credence gave a sharp cry as he was yanked back, his other wrist caught just the same and the knife wrenched out of his hand, clattering to the floor somewhere out of sight. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” came a very familiar voice, raspy with sleep, as Credence was wrestled down to the mattress beneath a single arm that no amount of kicking and flailing could dislodge. Grindelwald’s face came into view, folding his body over Credence’s, letting the pressure nearly smother him. The man’s eyes were wild, his dark hair dishevelled, falling between them and brushing against Credence’s face when he got too close. Credence tried to turn away, but there was nowhere to go. 

“You really should have been faster,” The man whispered and Credence caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. There was a strange note of triumph in his voice, like waking up to Credence trying to kill him was a thrill. 

“I wasn’t going to, I swear,” Credence let out in a sob. This had been what he was afraid of, and now he was shaking. Now he owed Grindelwald an apology for what he’d nearly done and the man wasn’t going to believe him. He was caught kneeling over Grindelwald with a knife and there was no way the man was going to trust that he’d changed his mind. It might not even matter that he’d changed his mind in the end, only that he’d nearly done it at all.

Grindelwald smiled. “It certainly looked like you were going to.” His voice turned into a purr, something that warred with the cloud of fear in Credence’s mind and countered his expectations. “But you couldn’t go through with it, could you?” It took Credence a long minute to realise that Grindelwald didn’t sound angry. It could be a trap, but then Grindelwald ran his nose down the side of Credence’s cheek, nuzzling there, and Credence didn’t know what was happening. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence whispered. “Please…forgive me. Please….” 

“Shh now.” Credence felt as much as heard the word pressed into the crevice of his neck. “Do you still want to see me dead, Credence?” Grindelwald asked, soft and steady. “I did promise you that you’d have your revenge. I know you don’t think much of my promises, but I did intend to keep that one should you want it. I must say, I imagined it being a fairer fight, but I suppose you have a ways yet to go before you’re feeling like yourself again.” 

Credence was going to answer, but then he felt the nip of teeth at the side of his neck. It made him squeak and jump before he realised they weren’t clamping down and tearing bluntly into his flesh. Grindelwald was just teasing him. Teasing him in a way that brought back all those old sensations…all those old desires. Credence squirmed under the man’s weight, but he still couldn’t move. 

“Is that what you want?” Grindelwald asked, and then there was…a new sensation. Something wet and warm and soft like silk against Credence’s neck. His breath hitched when he realised that was Grindelwald’s tongue. “For everything to go back to the way it was? For you to step back into the world as you were, lost and alone with a parasite eating you alive just under your skin where no one could see?” Credence’s heart was pounding now. He didn’t know why Grindelwald was punctuating his words with these _kisses_ , if they could be called that, but they were impossible to ignore. Somehow, they made the sting of Grindelwald’s words a little less punishing. They made Credence feel like he wasn’t about to be pushed away, not right now at least. They also made heat coil through his body from his head to his toes, but especially in his gut. “I can see you now,” Grindelwald brought him back, “even if you don’t think I should have that privilege.” 

Credence shivered. “I don’t know,” he whispered, unsure if Grindelwald was even asking him a real question. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He just wanted to feel _safe_. He wanted something to hold onto that wouldn’t leave him, or turn on him, or tear him down and suppress everything inside him like Mary Lou and her church. 

“Shhh…,” Grindelwald whispered again, lifting up to face Credence, hovering over him so close he could have rested his forehead against Credence’s. “Would you rather stay with me than go back out there, alone? Would you let me have another chance?” Credence felt Grindelwald’s thumb draw down his cheek, somehow emphasising his words instead of causing distraction. What _was_ distracting, however, was the way Grindelwald was looking at him. It was so like the way he used to, but not quite the same either. Credence had always felt like he was Mr. Graves’ sole focus back then, but now, contrasted with the kind of focus Grindelwald was giving him, the way Grindelwald stared into his eyes like he could read every one of Credence’s thoughts and he desperately wanted Credence to believe him, now Credence could see the difference. 

It was equally strange to remember the man’s face from yesterday using the same stare. Credence hadn’t forgotten this wasn’t really Mr. Graves, but he kept having to force himself to think the name ‘Grindelwald’. Credence didn’t know why he kept the disguise now, except that it was familiar. The way he looked, asleep…. Credence had imagined Mr. Graves looking like that before, but it was only in his fantasies. 

Credence bit his lip, meeting and searching Grindelwald’s eyes, trying to find a way he could believe in the man. “I don’t know,” he repeated, just as quiet, like being quiet would make any difference. A huge part of Credence just wanted to give in, to give Grindelwald whatever he wanted, even if he still only wanted to use Credence, but there was another part of him, deep down, that railed against it. And that part of him only came out when it absolutely had to. “I want to,” Credence admitted. He wanted to explain it, how much he wanted to trust Grindelwald and wanted everything to be like he had planned—that he would go away with this man and join the wizarding world. He’d have done whatever Grindelwald had wanted if only he’d wanted Credence in return. But Credence couldn’t find the words. 

“Alright. That’s ok.” Grindelwald stroked the side of Credence’s face, his palm taking up most of it. Grindelwald seemed so much bigger now. He was almost overwhelming like this. “Just for now, then.” Credence shivered. He wasn’t cold. He felt too hot all over. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?” Grindelwald went on. “Stay here while you heal, learn what you can, and I won’t force you into anything.” Grindelwald turned to nuzzle at Credence’s ear. “Which means you’re going to have to stop trying to kill me.” Credence’s face burned. In complete contrast to his shame at Grindelwald’s words, there was an equal heat growing inside him, specifically between his legs. Credence thought he should maybe have been mortified, but Grindelwald was making it difficult to focus on that feeling with his stern words contrasted so sharply with his affectionate touches. All Credence could focus on was what he was saying and the feel of him, and then Grindelwald shifted his weight. His hip rubbed against Credence below him, and Credence couldn’t help the way it made him feel. His whole body went stiff. A whimper escaped his throat before he could hold it back. He tried so hard not to move, but then Grindelwald smiled. “I’d like to do so much more with you, if you’d only let me.” 

Credence blinked. He didn’t know if he could think like this. All his usual inhibitions were being melted away by the continuous touches he was receiving and Grindelwald’s persistent weight pressed against his groin. Credence was sure he wasn’t misreading this. He couldn’t be. Even though he had no experience in the matter whatsoever, everything Grindelwald was doing to him was right out of his dreams. Normally, he’d be telling himself not to believe it, that either he was deluding himself or that Grindelwald was just bent on using him, that Grindelwald couldn’t possibly want him. 

The man caught his eye again, a half smile curling his mouth now. “Believe me, Credence.” He shifted his hips again, and this time Credence felt him—felt what he was sure was Grindelwald’s erection—rubbing against his thigh. 

Credence’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t help it. A look of shock must have passed across his face because Grindelwald chuckled. The man’s smile only grew wider. It made his eyes look warm. _Heated_ , in fact. Credence didn’t know what to do or say, but the desire he’d felt so often for this man came back tenfold. 

“Am I mistaken in thinking this would be unwelcome?” Grindelwald asked. With one hand, he petted Credence’s hair. Credence couldn’t see the other until he felt fingertips brush against his side where his shirt had ridden up. He squirmed without thinking, but he wasn’t trying to get away. Grindelwald’s hands felt so good. They were reassuring and then they were teasing out every sinful little dream Credence had ever had. 

Credence didn’t know how to answer. He’d always had trouble saying what he wanted aloud. Other things he could manage well enough, although he’d never been the expressive sort, but Credence had no idea how to give voice to wanting what Grindelwald was offering. He had another idea though. He bit his lip and stared up at Grindelwald, and once he had the man’s attention, he tried to press up into the man’s touch. Credence gave a soft gasp when Grindelwald’s hand pressed against his back, between himself and the mattress, and Credence tried to move against him. Credence did everything he could to convey without words how much he wanted whatever it was Grindelwald was leading up to, all the while reeling at the sudden change in the direction of their conversation, but he couldn’t help it. Resisting Grindelwald like this was impossible. 

Grindelwald laughed, soft and indulgent. “I’ll take that to mean I was wrong.” With both hands, he adjusted Credence’s hips below him to find a better angle against his stomach and Credence gasped again before Grindelwald bent down to place a kiss against his cheek, surprisingly chaste for the way he was pressing Credence down and for the way Credence could feel him pressing against his thigh. 

It made Credence’s breath stutter. With no small amount of shame, he managed to nod. That was all he could do. A part of him felt like he was giving away every bit of himself for this touch. Not only in the manner Mary Lou had tried to instill in him, the idea that this was a sin all on its own, but in the knowledge that Grindelwald still might be using him. Somewhere deep in his rage that night in New York, Credence had vowed never to believe him again. And now here they were…. 

Credence turned his head away, pink deepening in his cheeks as shame washed through him, but Grindelwald was right there, hands quickly framing his face with soft touches, his careful words ready to sooth Credence just like he’d always done. “I know. It’s okay.” The insistent press of Grindelwald’s weight slowed. His hands felt so nice against Credence’s neck, sliding up into his hair and then running slowly back down again. “You don’t have to trust me to enjoy this much. Just trust that I’m not going to hurt you, not right now. Not like this.” 

Credence swallowed and nodded. He could trust that much. And Grindelwald was right, thinking about it that way made giving in easier. If it was just this time. Just so he could experience this once. 

Gentle fingers turned his head back to see Grindelwald with a quirk of a smile on his face. “There’s my boy.” Credence nearly glanced away, the stark reference to how much he had changed, yet apparently elicited the same endearment Grindelwald had always given him. The man’s smile only grew wider. “You don’t like being called that anymore? You used to.” Slowly, Grindelwald began to emphasise the movement of his hips. “It certainly still fits, but I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of.” 

Credence’s breath was still hitching. He didn’t know how long he could look Grindelwald in the eye like this, not when their hips were moving like they were. Goosebumps broke out all across his flesh and he had a feeling that Grindelwald knew, even if he was still covered up. As though taking pity on him, Grindelwald lowered his head to brush his mouth over Credence’s. It felt like the kiss Credence had awoken to back in the other place Grindelwald had taken him, soft and gentle and barely there at first. Until Grindelwald pressed forward and deepened it. Credence didn’t know how to follow, but he didn’t have time to think about it either. He felt like he was drunk on pleasure. Even though he’d never experienced being drunk before, it was all he could relate it to. His body was singing, and Grindelwald ran his hands down it, folding them around Credence’s hips for that little bit of extra leverage and dragging them together. 

They weren’t matched, Credence was too short, but it still felt so good. When Grindelwald’s hands pulled the rest of his shirt free of his trousers and went for the buttons, Credence couldn’t hold back a whimper of distress. The thought of Grindelwald’s hands on him, on his _bare skin_ , was too much. This was already too much, no matter how much Credence liked it. He didn’t think he could take any more. 

Grindelwald gave a quiet grunt of dismay, but he removed his hands and placed them back at Credence’s hip and thigh, helping to work the pace of his thrusts, which slowed but didn’t stop. “I’d like to touch you someday,” he murmured. “Your skin is so soft. You’d feel incredible.” 

Credence shuddered. He felt like he was coming apart in Grindelwald’s hands regardless. He was getting too hot. With the man’s breath at his neck and the layers between them, Credence could barely ever remember feeling this warm. He was burning up inside just as much. He took fistfuls of Grindelwald’s shirt without thinking and clutched it tight. He was too close and he wasn’t close enough. Old, familiar shame twinged in the pit of Credence’s stomach, just under the scorch of everything else. He tried to fight it down. He’d been able to once. When they were meeting in secret and Credence began to feel safer with this man than he’d ever felt with anyone before. That was when the shame of his desires went away. He didn’t know if he could find that feeling again. But then Grindelwald pressed another kiss to his lips and Credence stopped thinking. Grindelwald’s tongue, warm and wet and entirely obscene, pressed at the seam of his mouth and Credence opened. He’d never felt anything like it before, with Grindelwald’s insistence and the pleasurable way he was moving against Credence, Credence thought he might lose himself altogether. He could stop thinking entirely like this. He must have, because he found his arms wrapping around Grindelwald’s neck on their own and he felt himself kissing back, wanting the wet slide of it and the heat more than anything, even if it was going to destroy him, and even if it was going to leave him wondering what he’d done after. He couldn’t even imagine after right now. 

Credence closed his eyes and let himself make whatever sounds Grindelwald drew out of him, mostly sweet, little cries he wouldn’t have imagined himself making at any other time. He couldn’t imagine himself making any sound at all, much less these sorts of sounds, if he were honest. But then one of Grindelwald’s hands disappeared. Credence took only a moment to register it before he felt it working between their hips, and there was a new pressure against his groin. Credence gasped, nearly breaking the kiss before Grindelwald came back for more. Credence’s hips stuttered, his mind incoherent enough to thrust back. The pressure of Grindelwald’s palm was focused and Credence didn’t really even have to thrust to feel every bit of it. He felt like there was a pressure building inside him. He was losing control of his own body, and it wasn’t anything like the way Grindelwald had momentarily restrained him. He was losing control from the inside out and at first it scared him. He could barely move by his own will, but his fingers clutched at the back of Grindelwald’s shirt collar and the man moved his kisses to Credence’s ear, biting down softly. His whole body pressed over Credence and, somehow, that ebbed away the fluttering in his gut. Grindelwald had him. It was this man who was holding him, and it didn’t matter if Credence lost control because Grindelwald—because Mr. Graves—would be there to take care of it. Of him. 

With a start, Credence’s mouth dropped open. He stiffened and he felt heat pulse through his body, starting at his trapped erection and fading out to the rest of his limbs. He laid rigid that way for a long moment before he slumped and Grindelwald grinned into his neck. The man’s slowing thrusts were suddenly too much. Credence felt too sensitive all over, but too out of it to do more than wince. 

Finally, Grindelwald stopped, but he didn’t move away. The hand that had been between them reached up to pet Credence’s hair. Credence could see how Grindelwald’s breaths were coming just like his own, deep and long, but trying to make them as quiet as he could. 

“There. You did so well for me, Credence,” Grindelwald whispered. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to give that to you.” 

Credence had to look up as the man’s words registered. He blinked the haze away from his mind as much as he could. It didn’t work very well. Credence felt boneless under Grindelwald’s weight. “You did?” Credence asked, finally finding his voice. It was an awkward question. There was no way he could make it anything but, with all his uncertainty still weighing somewhere in the back of his mind, even if it was hard to feel just then. 

“I did.” Grindelwald licked his lips. The very same lips that had just been against Credence’s mouth. The very same tongue that had just been inside…. A half smile quirked Grindelwald’s mouth. “I knew I shouldn’t have, when I didn’t think I could take you with me, but I still did in spite of everything.” 

Something flipped in Credence’s stomach that felt unnervingly like hope. He didn’t know if he was ready for it, but there it was. He tried to push it back down, instead nodding. Grindelwald had just admitted again that he never planned to take Credence with him. It still stung, but…perhaps not so badly this time, not with something to offset it, if Grindelwald hadn’t been playing with him for fun all along. 

Fingers touched Credence’s chin in a gesture that was beginning to become familiar. He met Grindelwald’s eyes again and found the man’s little smile had softened, but not faded entirely. “You believe that, don’t you.” 

It wasn’t a question, so Credence nodded. 

Grindelwald’s forefinger drew down the bridge of his nose, a strange sign of affection maybe. It was certainly something no one had ever done to Credence before, yet Grindelwald seemed to like it. Credence couldn’t deny that the man did seem to like touching him wherever he could. 

“Good.” Grindelwald drew a long breath and then shifted to Credence’s side. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, and Credence couldn’t help following the line of his body down, until Credence caught sight of the front of his trousers and had to look away. Grindelwald was still very aroused. Credence had been able to make out the clear outline of his cock pressing against the material. He wondered, wildly, whether Grindelwald expected him to do anything about it, but Grindelwald didn’t mention it as he sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He did move like he was conscious of it, not bending quite as far forward. Credence laid stock still, wondering what was going to happen. 

“I am going to take a shower,” Grindelwald announced, apparently ignorant to Credence’s concern. “And then we’ll have breakfast, but I’m afraid I have to see to other business for most of the day today.” He glanced back to Credence, and Credence swore his eyes still looked hungry even when he spoke of nothing more than his schedule. “There are some books I’d like you to look at while I’m gone. If you’re going to be learning magic, you’ll need a foundation in theory as much as practice.” 

All Credence could do was nod and manage a quiet, “Okay.” 

Grindelwald threaded his fingertips through Credence’s hair one more time before climbing off the bed. Once he was standing, it was even more noticeable. Credence tried not to stare, but the man might have caught him, for he glanced back to Credence once he’d gathered a new set of clothes from the closet and winked before heading off to the bathroom. 

Credence stayed right where Grindelwald had left him. He heard the door close across the hall, and then the sound of the water a minute later. He shivered where he sat, not from cold or from fear, just from the…absence. He’d never known what it was to be touched like that by another person. He could only dream of it when he’d met Mr. Graves. He’d heard the neighbourhood boys talk growing up and he’d even participated once or twice before his few friendships had ended, but it was nothing more than talk and always about girls. Credence had never really been interested in girls, but sometimes the men on the street would catch his eye. Mr. Graves had been one of those men. And then he had noticed Credence in return. 

Slowly, Credence lifted himself out of bed. He was going to need a shower, too. He still felt a little sticky with sweat, but…nothing more. He checked in his trousers and found that he’d come dry, another strange thing about being in this new body. Credence didn’t have enough experience in the matters of sex to say what was normal, per se, but he remembered that was. And he remembered Mary Lou scolding him early on for touching himself or rubbing on things. Worse than scolding, if he were honest. He’d stopped for as long as he could until he’d started to have dreams as a teenager and found himself waking to a mess in his pants. Still, Credence had tried not to indulge, but oh how he wished he could. 

He decided he would have to change into his nightgown and wash his clothes later. Even after what they’d done, he didn’t feel like he should be undressed in Grindelwald’s presence.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Credence had bathed and redressed, he could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. It permeated through the steam of the room even before he opened the door and stepped out into the hall on bare feet with his hair still damp. His clothes didn’t feel so bad once they’d aired out and he was clean again, and he didn’t have any more reason to linger, so tentatively he went to the kitchen only to find Grindelwald, still looking very much like Mr. Graves, sitting at the table with a newspaper. 

Credence had momentarily forgotten about Gwendoline. When Grindelwald had mentioned breakfast, he’d thought that meant the man would be preparing it himself, but he’d been wrong. The little house elf bustled around in the kitchen over a pair of frying pans and what looked to be a self-rising loaf of bread on the counter. Credence couldn’t help the twinge of guilt when he looked her way, but she paid him no heed and went about her task with quick work. 

Grindelwald didn’t say anything about it when Credence joined him at the table, sitting opposite him and politely folding his hands into his lap. Credence wasn’t sure how things stood between them now, nor how the man felt about his thoughts on the servant he employed. 

Grindelwald folded the paper and set it down on the table. “You can read it if you like. There’s been talk among the muggles of the destruction of your little church, although fortunately not the whole of New York—that magizoologist’s little memory trick appears to have worked. Some of that talk has made it as far as Germany.” 

Credence glanced to the paper and sure enough the section Grindelwald had left folded open contained a small article with a picture of what Credence recognized as the facade of the Second Salem society’s church, now mostly rubble. The picture was moving around the perimeter. Credence swallowed. “They…the witches and wizards in New York, didn’t do something about that?” he asked meekly, ashamed at wishing someone else had covered up his actions, but not understanding why they hadn’t. 

Grindelwald shrugged. “These things aren’t always covered up as well as they should, especially not with what happened to the city afterwards. Muggles are often left to guess at strange events even if they’ve been obliviated.” 

It was then that Gwendoline came in with two plates heaped with eggs, toast, and bacon and two cups of coffee floating behind her. “Sirs,” she squeaked, and Credence awkwardly took the plate she laid down on the table in front of him. 

“Thank you.” He tried to sound sincere, he _was_ sincere, but he wasn’t used to being served, either. This was more awkward than the handful of times Grindelwald had taken him to a diner. 

She offered him a quick smile and then slipped out of sight back to the kitchen to clean up. Credence waited until she was gone before he took his fork and began to eat. He didn’t realise how hungry he was. 

Silence prevailed over the table until they were finished. Credence was the first, although it had been hard to eat it all. He may have been used to eating quickly, but he was not used to that much food in one meal, nor such heavy food besides. Grindelwald wasn’t hurried, and he did not dismiss Credence when he was done, so Credence ended up sitting there patiently, wondering if he should not have eaten so fast. But Grindelwald didn’t comment on it, even when he was finished and wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“I have to leave soon,” the man announced. “But I trust you’ll be okay here by yourself while I’m gone?” 

Credence nodded, understanding that Gwendoline’s presence didn’t count. But he supposed she wasn’t always there, either, or at least not visible, although he did not know where she went when she wasn’t serving them. 

“Good.” Grindelwald offered him one of the kind smiles Mr. Graves used to and rose from the table. “Let me show you some of those books I mentioned.” 

Credence rose and glanced at the table, but their plates lifted into the air and floated into the kitchen before he could even think to ask if he should clean up, so he followed Grindelwald into the former study and watched as the man began perusing through the bookshelves. Credence hadn’t taken the time to read the titles, but Grindelwald didn’t seem to be following any organisation when he picked one from the top shelf and then another from one of the cabinets and then still another from one of the bottom shelves. 

“I’ll pick up one of the standard books of spells while I’m out and we can use that as a guide to start practising magic in our world, but these should keep you occupied today,” Grindelwald explained while Credence looked over the covers. “The theory behind magic and the composition of all matter and energy in the universe, the history of magical people’s in Europe and the greater theory of our ancestors, and—you’ll find particular interest in this one—historic accounts of obscurials up to the eighteenth century.” Grindelwald offered the books to Credence, who was careful not to handle them roughly. “I’d like for you to know what you are, what your magic has become, and why,” he explained, and Credence could not find a hint of duplicity in his face. 

“I’ll do my best.” Credence hugged the books to his chest and worried that he would not finish them in time before Grindelwald returned. He read very well, but the books were rather large. 

Grindelwald only smiled and touched his fingers to Credence’s cheek. “Don’t worry. We have time. Just keep at it steadily, that’s all I ask, and we’ll pick up your lessons in magic when I return.” He bent down to Credence’s level and pressed a kiss to his cheek. When Credence flushed, their prior activities returning to his thoughts, Grindelwald moved down to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss there as well.

Credence didn’t feel like he had much time to react, though really the trouble was that he couldn’t get himself to move. His eyes had only just begun to close and he’d only just begun to explore the feel of it before Grindelwald was pulling back. “There’s my good boy,” he said with a smile and a squeeze to Credence’s shoulder, for a moment letting Credence really see how much he’d enjoyed that before he straightened again. “I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, just call for Gwendoline and she’ll come to see to it.” 

Credence swallowed and tried to keep breathing evenly. “Okay. T-thank you.” It was out of his mouth before he could catch it, manners instilled in him to a degree he wasn’t always aware of, and then he flushed again. _He could thank this man when he wanted to_ , he told himself, fighting a strange battle of his returning affection and his previous betrayal. 

“You’re welcome, Credence.” Grindelwald sounded sincere and looked quietly satisfied before he turned to leave the room. 

Credence followed, books still in his arms, and watched as the man shrugged on his winter coat and wrapped the scarf around his neck. He looked so like the Mr. Graves from New York. Even his clothing hadn’t changed all that much. Credence didn’t know what wizards usually wore, but he figured they tried to blend in. The only others he’d known had been Tina and the other man who’d followed him down to the train station, but his visual memories were somewhat hazy and he really hadn’t been paying attention to it at the time. Grindelwald didn’t look too out of place in a muggle crowd, Credence supposed, but he would turn heads. It had happened to Credence the first time he saw the man, after all. 

Grindelwald offered him one last smile before he opened the door. “Be good, Credence.” And then he was gone, the clock clicking quietly into place behind him and Credence heard a muffled pop of apparition on the other side. 

He was alone again, he realised. But this time it didn’t seem as jarring as the last. Grindelwald would be back. He could call Gwendoline probably just for company if he wanted it. If he wasn’t encroaching on her time, that is. He felt somewhat hollow, being alone so suddenly, but he didn’t want to impose on anyone so soon, either. 

He took his books back to his room and looked at the bed and the single window, and then decided he’d rather sit in the living room to start his reading. It felt more like someone had been living there, and Credence was a little more comfortable on the couch, even if he felt like it was going to get dirty just because he sat there. 

He decided to leave the book on obscurials for later. He knew Grindelwald wanted him to read that one in particular, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to think about himself and the way he was compared to other people just then. He relished the thought of escaping into something else, so he picked up the history book and laid the other two on the table for later, then settled in for a long morning of reading and trying not to think about what could be going on in the outside world.

* * *

Percival had spent the whole night up with the files Picquery had given him. He read up on every new case Grindelwald had worked on and found out which projects he’d deferred to others. He learned that Grindelwald had spent a great portion of his time and energy following the disturbances across the city. The man had filled out updates just like he himself would have been expected to, but usually deferred the paperwork to others when he could. That, apparently, had been the only thing out of place about the man, apart from the day he’d sentenced Tina and the magizoologist to an execution. 

That tied his stomach in knots worse even than the notes on Credence Barebone, the boy Tina had spoken of when he’d first woken. He’d always suspected he could have gotten away with many things as the long-time Director of Magical Security and the way people looked up to him, but that had been a shock. To have lost one of their own aurors like that…. He didn’t want to think about it, but he was going to have to have a very serious talk with some of his employees about following procedure no matter who tells them otherwise. 

But then there was Credence. Percival lain awake in bed in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep, thinking of the haunted looking boy in the photographs in his case files. There had been one solely dedicated to him, but all of it was through second-hand accounts. Tina had written in all she knew, which was the most they had to go on, but unfortunately it really wasn’t much. She knew his adoptive mother beat him and she knew that he’d spent most of his life with her and that church. She did not know who his biological parents were, nor whether they were no-majs or wizards. Mary Lou’s attitude did suggest she suspected him of witchcraft, or of something she found distasteful, and targeted him relentlessly for it, but Tina had not been able to determine what. 

Newt Scamander had lent his notes on the obscurial girl he’d met in Sudan and what he’d collected on them through research. It was helpful, but provided Percival with no more real information than he’d already guessed. Credence had grown up either hating or fearing his own magical ability. Whether he had even been aware that he had magic or not was anyone’s guess, but his magic grew smothered and distorted until it turned parasitic inside him. Percival searched for any mention of disturbances that could have been related to the boy earlier than this year, but found none. Either he had managed to keep the obscurus inside him at bay all that time, or it had gotten out before and still no one had connected the incident. With what information Percival had, it was very difficult to guess. All he knew was that Credence would have had to have been very powerful to have survived for so long, much less been able to suppress such a thing until recently. 

And it was no wonder that it had happened recently, he’d thought looking at a photograph of the boy. Credence really hadn’t been a boy anymore. He’d been a young man, a beautiful young man in fact, and he’d never gone out into the world outside of his church before. Credence must have been ready to leave. And then Grindelwald had stepped into his life like one of the no-maj’s saving angels, wearing his face. Percival could imagine it so easily even though there were no direct reports on what had happened between them. He couldn’t say he knew exactly what had happened either, but he knew Grindelwald would have provided whatever the boy wanted so long as it put him in a place of power over Credence. Tina and Newt wrote that they suspected Grindelwald had acted like a mentor for the boy based on what he’d said to Credence in the station. Percival could easily believe it. He could easily suspect more, if Credence had had the slightest inkling of desire for men that way, Grindelwald would have honed in on it relentlessly. There had been times when the man had come back to the apartment at the end of the day with his blood already running hot. Those were the days he’d hounded Percival the most. Percival had never known what set it off at the time other than a long day at work, but now he had a strong suspicion. 

They’d all believed Credence to be a squib, too. How that must have rankled Grindelwald, he thought, running his hands over his face and staring at the curtains where the first rays of the sun were creeping through. To be attracted to someone he considered so low…. That was probably—that was definitely—why he’d gone straight back to Percival’s bedroom after. Percival knew Grindelwald respected him well enough in his place in the wizarding world. It was fairly clear Grindelwald didn’t respect most people, but Percival could tell he had been at least a partial exception. Exception enough for the man to pretend to be him and to engage him in conversation when Percival could be persuaded. He was under no delusions, however, that that little bit of respect counted for anything more than a slightly better experience with the man than most would have had. Grindelwald had never outright forced him into anything intimate, but there were times when it came close and Percival didn’t think there was much to hold the man back had he really wanted to. That was perhaps the most unnerving thing of all about their time together, that kind of threat just under the surface of every one of Grindelwald’s advances, even though it never came to pass. Yet, contrary to that, he always made sure his touches and his words were just gentle enough to provide real temptation. Percival didn’t know how the man had done it, whether it was something that came with his power and his confidence coupled with the times he thought to be considerate when he could have done far worse, but Percival was not usually one for being overpowered or seduced. 

He really had to stop thinking about this. His hands dropped to his sides and he ended up turning his attention to the ceiling, bare and drab, and he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep. He’d already relayed his comments on the files to Picquery by owl. She would receive them this morning if she hadn’t already late last night. He really didn’t have to be anywhere today, and yet he found he just couldn’t manage to stay in bed. 

Fighting the fog in his mind and the vague sense of dizziness that came with lack of sleep, he finally gave up and dragged himself out of bed. He grabbed a bathrobe that had been considerately left for him and went to wash up, not quite looking forward to yet another pot of coffee. 

He felt like a zombie moving through his mourning routine, but at least being up and active again kept his intruding thoughts at bay. It worked until he was dressed and had a cup of coffee in his hand and a buttery croissant on his plate, appetite finally starting to come back it seemed, and nothing more to do for the rest of the day. He finished his breakfast quickly and found his foot tapping while he stared out the window across the trees, down to the park below. The itch to get back out there was strong. He managed to fight it for a full ten minutes before muttering a curse and going to pull on his boots. 

Percival was out the door minutes later, wand up his sleeve since Picquery had deigned to return it to him, and ready for the chill with only one destination in mind. He apparated to where he remembered the Second Salem church was located, only to find its hulking remnants, dark with debris and snow fallen through most of it. The no-maj construction crews hadn’t been through yet, probably because the property was either being transferred or they were working to sell it off if Mary Lou had no one to will it to. Thankfully, the files from MACUSA had informed him the remaining child who’d lived there had been moved to another orphanage. He just hoped it was better than the last one. 

Stepping through the debris was slow going, but Percival picked his way carefully inside. The chill ran all the way through, now that the place was missing its roof, but the back of the church where the lodgings had been kept remained somewhat intact. It looked like most of the damage had been done from the stairs to the second floor outward. There wasn’t much he could tell from looking through the overturned tables and the shredded remains of a few papers around the raised platform where he assumed sermons had been conducted, so Percival gravitated towards the back. He found a room on the first floor that may have been Mary Lou’s, judging from the adult sized bed and the sparseness apart from a writing desk and a slim dresser. It looked like looters may have found it, but there probably wasn’t much to take since he could see what was left of a dress matted with dirt lying half under the bed. 

He turned his attention to the ceiling when it struck him that the children’s rooms were probably directly above her. She would have been able to hear everything they were doing through such thin floorboards. He resisted a shudder at the thought of it, but that gave him another idea. 

He went in search of the stairs and found they were only somewhat intact, but with a simple reparo, he managed to climb safely enough to the second floor. There were only a few rooms up there, but he did not know how many children Mary Lou regularly housed other than Credence and his two “sisters”. He found a small bed in one and a few personal items, books and boxes and dresses fit for a young girl and so he moved onto the next where he found much the same. It was only at the third bedroom that he was given pause. He would have thought it unused had there not been three permanent residents he knew of in the house and a bed in the corner with thin sheets, a small pillow, and a single blanket. 

Percival stepped into the room. He wasn’t mistaken. It was a child’s bed, really. If he’d laid down on it, he’d have had to draw his feet in an inch or two. He sighed, looking around. A small chest sat in the opposite corner than the bed, but besides that, the room was empty. Just to be sure, he lifted the lid and found neatly folded articles of clothing fit for a young man, apart from being a generation too old and quite worn down by the look of them. Percival closed the lid as his opinion of Mary Lou dropped several notches lower. 

He went back to the balcony and stood there, looking out over the church, trying to imagine living like this. He felt cold just thinking about it. And not because he could tell the walls had always been thin, even before the roof went missing. Percival supposed he’d learned what he came there to find. Absence spoke more profoundly in this case than if he’d found glimpses of Credence’s life just like the sisters’, but it didn’t make him feel any better. 

All that time this young man was suffering, was being hounded by a man calling himself Percival Graves and manipulating Credence for his own ends, ending with his death, Percival had been oblivious. Just like he’d passed Mary Lou and the crowds she drew on the street daily. He’d only seen them as a potential threat to wizarding New York, passed them off as extremists living in their own ways, unable to be reasoned with or confronted. He’d failed to see past his own world on both occasions, and now there was a young wizard dead for it. 

Percival grit his teeth and apparated back to the apartment on Fifth Avenue. He was going to be damned if he didn’t track Grindelwald down for what he’d done. To them all, to him personally, and especially to this boy. Grindelwald proclaimed to have such great love for wizardkind and yet he used them like pawns, just like everyone else. Percival took out the stack of files again and his notes. He didn’t have the resources of MACUSA right now, but he could still start. He needed to know what was going on in the world now. He needed to try to find out where Grindelwald would be next, if he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted in New York. Percival needed to catch up on the news. 

He searched through the stack of files for a few names of witnesses he might call upon without arousing disciplinary action from the president’s office, but paused when his hand passed over one of the photographs of Credence. It wasn’t one of him standing on street corners, handing out his leaflets, which had been taken covertly by the wizards keeping an eye on the Second Salemers. It was from the day Tina had attacked Mary Lou. They must have documented everyone that had been obliviated that day. The spell hadn’t worked on Credence, apparently, and here he was, staring straight ahead at the camera, or as straight as Credence ever probably did stare with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. His eyes though…. Those dark eyes of his met the camera and locked with it, staring up from under his brows. The picture didn’t move much. It could have been from a no-maj camera if Percival couldn’t see that the young man was still breathing. Looking at this photo, Percival could imagine the defiance in Credence at the end. That look hadn’t been in any of the others, but in this one, he could see it. 

Percival pressed his mouth into a thin line and plucked it from its paper clip. He looked at it for a long moment, and then propped it up against his coffee cup. He’d do this for Credence, he decided. So few people had ever done anything for this boy. Tina had tried, but still he had deserved better from all of them. Percival locked eyes with the boy in the photo, and then turned back to the file. 

He found his list and then headed for the fireplace. He had some calls to make. And some newspapers to order.

* * *

Grindelwald turned out to be gone for most of the day. Credence found it difficult to focus on his books at first, and then once he finally got his mind to settle, found it quite relaxing to spend time on the couch doing nothing more than reading by himself, until he remembered that at any moment Grindelwald could open the door. By turns every hour or so, Credence spent the day going back and forth. 

He didn’t realise it was lunch time until Gwendoline entered with a tray of sliced sandwiches. Credence didn’t feel hungry yet, he’d eaten that morning after all, but he still didn’t think it would be a good idea to turn down food. He never did, and even though Grindelwald seemed to have every one of life’s basic necessities inside the flat, Credence couldn’t bring himself to depend on the man’s hospitality. 

He ate as many cucumber sandwiches as he could and thanked Gwendoline when she brought him tea. With his head lowered, he apologised to her for not helping and offered to do so for dinner, but she gave him such a stern look and shook her head so fiercely he couldn’t argue. She went right back to her pleasant self after that, and Credence knew she wasn’t mad at him. She probably wasn’t going to allow his help anymore now, not unless Grindelwald approved. That was, apparently, not his place, but that left Credence not knowing where his place was meant to be. And he didn’t feel any better leaving her to take care of everything. His stomach did flips with guilt while she cleaned the dishes in the kitchen, but eventually she finished and disappeared to wherever it was she went to, and Credence was able to relax again. 

The books were not dull. He made sure to glance through the other two, but he dedicated his time to the history of the wizarding world first. He’d always liked reading when he could find something new, which wasn’t often, but this was especially fascinating. It moved through different regions in Europe, from Germany to France to England and so on. Credence even read about the magical schools founded centuries ago throughout. There didn’t seem to be many of them, and so far he’d found no mention of just how many wizards there were in the world. 

It struck him with worry at one point that he truly had no idea how rare they were. New York was a big city. He knew there were many there, but wizards from around the country probably came together to live and work and he had so very little to go on. 

He read about the first magical laws separating man from beast and wizards from muggles, and how different factions of wizards had very different traditions and goals throughout the rise and fall of their own empires alongside the muggle ones. Every once in a while, Credence found specific importance given to old wizarding families and their ancestors in general. He started to feel like he was missing something in these parts, that there was some context he did not understand, but he moved on and hoped that it would be revealed in later chapters. 

When Credence finally did hear footsteps outside the door and the latch clicking open, the sun had already descended long ago. He’d turned on the lamps and watched figures passing under the streetlights out the window, starting to worry at how long Grindelwald had been gone. He wanted to resent the twinge of relief in his chest when the man stepped into the hall, covered in a light dusting of snow and shrugging out of his coat and hat. He swept his hand through the dark hair that didn’t belong to him and shook off the cold before fixing Credence in his sights. 

Credence curled into himself on the couch, realising that he hadn’t done anything all day but read and he surely looked quite pampered sitting there, warm and comfortable, compared to wherever Grindelwald had just been. But the man smiled and stepped into the living room, not seeming to resent the sight of him sitting there. Credence vaguely wondered whether his shoes were charmed clean because he left no wet footprints on the pristine white carpet as he approached. 

“Looks like you’ve been keeping busy,” Grindelwald commented, eyes moving over the books on the table. 

“I’m halfway through the first, and I’m afraid I’ve only glanced through the others so far,” Credence admitted, hoping he wasn’t too slow. If Grindelwald thought he was being slothful about it….

“Very good,” was all the man had to say, however. When Credence glanced up, he couldn’t tell if Grindelwald approved or whether it made a difference to him at all how far Credence was. “Have you eaten? I’m famished.” He didn’t wait for Credence to reply before he called, “Gwendoline.” 

The elf appeared almost instantly, throwing herself into a deep bow and then straightening quickly. “Yes, master?” 

“How would you like to try the steak?” Grindelwald’s attention never left Credence and his mouth was curving into a smile. He knew Credence had only ever eaten steak like they had tried once, when Mr. Graves had taken him to a diner and the man had ordered for him. It was not that Mary Lou had any aversion to the meat itself, only that she saw prime tenderloin as an indulgence beyond measure. The same went with nearly all sweets, although on one or two occasions one of the local boys had shared his candies with Credence and so they were not a mystery. 

Credence curled his fingers around the book in his lap. “That would be very good of you…but I had lunch not long ago and I don’t wish your hospitality to go to waste.” It was strange how it was the little things that brought back the staunch politeness in Credence. He was never more aware of it than when this man tried to do something generous for him. Generous to Credence’s mind, that was. Grindelwald brushed off the concern with a wave of his hand. 

“Nonsense. I’ll not have you hungry later.” Grindelwald gave a nod to Gwendoline and at once she disappeared into the kitchen. “I did promise I’d be teaching you some real-world spells soon, did I not?” With that, he pulled a book from behind his back that Credence had not noticed he’d been carrying. “Standard Book of Spells, Volume 1,” he read from its cover before holding it out to Credence. 

Credence had not forgotten, but he didn’t think he’d be doing any magic today. Not while they were in the flat and not since Grindelwald had not told him when he’d be back, but he took the book and looked it over, opening it to the table of contents and aware that he was being watched all the while. He read down the list of names, mostly charms, such as the wand-lighting charm, the softening charm, the mending charm, and there, to his surprise, was the severing charm they had already practised in the other place. He looked up at Grindelwald in surprise. The man had told him it was a basic spell, if this was in fact the same spell, but he did remember the name “diffindo”. Credence hadn’t been sure whether to believe him. 

“Thank you,” Credence finally stuttered, having waited too long already for it to have been properly polite. 

Again, Grindelwald waved away the social niceties. “And I have something else for you. For the time being, anyway.” He went to the table and dropped from his sleeve a long and slender rod and laid it down before Credence. 

It was a wand, Credence realised, his eyes widening. It looked entirely different from the one he’d known Mr. Graves to use in New York, and also the one he’d seen Grindelwald use once or twice here in Berlin. Its wood was a deep red, so dark it nearly looked black, with a fine grain running along its length. There was only the suggestion of a handle where it thickened at the end and tapered off in a wide base. Credence was staring. He might not have been breathing. 

“Go on,” Grindelwald encouraged. 

Tentatively, Credence reached out and ran his fingertips along the handle. He felt like this was something he should be very careful with, something that he wasn’t sure he had the right to just pick up like that. It was a strange feeling, like the way Modesty had always treated her dolls as if they were real, worried that they would be lonely while she had to hand out leaflets during the day, or hungry when they didn’t get any bred like she did. It should have felt ridiculous, but he couldn’t shake it. 

After a moment or two, Credence managed to work up the nerve to wrap his fingers around it and bring it to him. Nothing happened, and for that he was glad. It was quite beautiful up close. The grain and the shape of it reminded him of something organic. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking of anything in particular, but the look of it felt vaguely familiar. “How did you get it?” Credence asked. 

Grindelwald just smiled like Credence had stumbled upon a particularly interesting question. “Normally, wizards go to a shop and try many different wands before they find one that fits them. You still may have to eventually, to find the perfect fit, but after an extensive period of studying wand lore, I believe this one will suit you well until you have the opportunity.” 

“How do you know?” Credence wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t really imagined what having a wand would be like other than _having_ one, but now he felt like he was going to break it with one wrong movement. 

“Try it.” Grindelwald gestured a flicking motion with his hand, apparently feeling that his reasons were good enough for him and therefore should be good enough for Credence. 

Credence bit his lip and decided not to push the matter. He stood and turned away from the couch, holding the wand in front of him, unsure what he should be thinking about or feeling or even whether or not he was going to be using a spell. In the other world Grindelwald had told him spell casting was all about intent and will, but now, here, he gave the impression that all Credence need do was flick the wand. So he did. 

Immediately, a dark spool of smoke coiled out of the tip and Credence’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Beside him, Grindelwald smiled, teeth showing. “Is it supposed to do that?” Credence asked, worry pooling in his gut. 

“Not usually, no,” Grindelwald admitted. Credence’s stomach sank further. He must have looked quite upset because Grindelwald went on. “Most wizards get sparks. I had wondered if something like this might happen though.” He didn’t look at all worried, but Credence just couldn’t find the same attitude. 

“Is it okay?” he asked, voice sounding smaller even to his own ears. 

“We’ll find out, won’t we? Most obscurials don’t live long enough to acquire a wand.” Grindelwald’s smile didn’t dampen, and Credence felt a chill down his spine at the thought. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t try to do magic here.” Credence swallowed. He couldn’t look at the man anymore. Grindelwald really didn’t seem to understand his dilemma. “It’s not like in the other place, it just comes out wrong. I can’t…I don’t think I can control it.” 

He felt a hand on his shoulder first, and then Grindelwald was pulling him towards the man. He leaned against the couch and brought a few inches off his height so that Credence could meet his gaze better, but it was still hard to do. Grindelwald gripped his shoulders and Credence felt like he was being held standing by the man’s hands alone. “Your magic could be quite extraordinary, Credence. Don’t ever think about locking it away again, or you know what will happen to you.” Credence’s eyes fell. He hadn’t worried about the fate of the obscurials in some time, not when he was worried about everything else. He felt a warm hand brush against his cheek. “I’m not sure even I can save you from that.” 

Silently, Credence nodded, holding his new wand tight in his hands. 

“It’s best to let it be what it is. We’ll make it stronger together.” That was more comforting to hear, and Grindelwald squeezed his shoulders before letting him go. Credence tried not to slump where he stood, but he did suppose that as long as this man wanted to teach him, he might have a chance at learning, and at making his magic become something more like he’d seen in the other place. 

A clatter came from the kitchen and Credence looked up to find two plates piled high with meat and vegetables had been left for them on the dining table, along with what looked like two wine glasses. Gwendoline was nowhere in sight, however, and Credence couldn’t reason how she’d managed to leave all that behind and disappear so quickly. 

“Looks like dinner’s ready.” Grindelwald pushed off the couch and Credence followed to the other room. He couldn’t help but notice the way Grindelwald moved. It was something that stuck in the back of his mind before, and was more apparent now that the man wasn’t wearing a thick coat all the time, but he moved in a way that Credence hadn’t seen before from anyone. It was confident, first and foremost, and always direct, but there was a fluidity to it also. Like a dancer who calculated every step and every gesture and did so thoughtlessly. It was hard not to feel awkward trailing behind him in comparison, but it was equally hard for Credence to take his eyes away. 

He took the seat Grindelwald pulled out for him, and they tucked in quietly. Credence’s plate looked just as full as it had from across the room, and although it smelled wonderful, he feared he wouldn’t come close to being able to eat all of it. Grindelwald, however, didn’t hesitate in slicing into his own. 

As usual, Credence didn’t try to make conversation, but this time Grindelwald seemed content to enjoy the meal in silence. The only exchange between them was a motion suggesting that Credence drink his wine when he gave it a hesitant glance. Credence had never had wine before. Not even for the church since Mary Lou shunned it, but he tried it now. He did not find it particularly sweet, as he thought he might, and the taste of alcohol was surprisingly unpleasant, but he decided not overwhelmingly much, so he tried to sip whenever he thought it appropriate. 

Credence remembered plenty of comfortable silences between them when Grindelwald had been Mr. Graves, usually when they were about to part, or when the man had offered his embrace, but whenever they had visited a diner, Graves liked to talk. 

It was just after Credence began to move what was left of his steak around the plate that Grindelwald spoke up. “What did your mother teach you, about witches in the first Salem?” 

Credence looked up, not startled exactly, just surprised. It had been rare that Mr. Graves asked him questions unless it was to lead him into a certain topic. He thought back and decided how best he could sum it up. “That increased awareness of witches led to the trials in the year 1692 in the village of Salem, Massachusetts. That people were better learned on spotting them back then, and due to their efforts some twenty witches were discovered and executed that year when only half that number had been discovered previously that century. She said the same methods were being discovered around the same time in Europe, and that the knowledge was lost in the age of the industrial revolution and modernity.” By the end he was speaking from rote, and even to his own ears it was obvious. He wondered if he had always sounded that hollow. 

Grindelwald just nodded and lifted his wine. It was almost gone. “She was right. The same hunts reached their height here in Europe just a little earlier, although our witches and wizards had much deeper roots in the land than their colonial counterparts. They had an advantage, but those roots were already dying off. The Devil’s Bridge you saw yesterday? They would have escaped there had they remembered the old ways.” 

Credence hadn’t realised that. He’d always thought that witches had to live hidden inside the villages just like everyone else or escape to the woods where they lived naked and in packs, more like animals than people, devoted to the Devil and his bidding, while the villagers tried to track them down. He’d never thought they could have gone somewhere else, although, guiltily, he remembered wishing they had. Then they would have all been gone, deep in the northern forests no one had explored or even down in Hell, and Mary Lou would have had no reason to turn her children to the cause. They wouldn’t have had to struggle like they had. They could have lived like everyone else.

“Why did they forget?” Credence asked, trying not to let the guilt of his wishes overwhelm him. 

Grindelwald’s lip twitched. “’Necessity is the mother of invention’. Do you know the phrase?” Credence shook his head, so Grindelwald went on. “In the early modern period more witches and wizards began to live among muggles in the villages you’ve heard described in those stories. They hadn’t always. At least not the majority, although there are always exceptions. There came about a change of thought in the wizarding world around that time. Different factors allowed it to happen, one of which was that muggles started to do interesting things—although muggles were always doing interesting things around the world—it just so happened that many of these things: the exploration of America, the development of science as an independent practice, the reformation of the church, the rise in capitalism, and so on…the point is that muggles were starting to seem more alluring to wizardkind. Think what a wizard brought up on nothing but the old magic would have thought of science? Muggles began to systematically invent ways to improve their lives and societies much in the same way wizards had done using magic. Think of the first printing presses and how that changed the flow of information through daily life. Wizards would simply spell newspapers and books to be written with a copying quill. Muggles became _fascinating_. What if they discovered the secrets behind wizardry themselves? What if they discovered things wizards didn’t know? It was a period of unique excitement among wizardkind, the notion that muggles might soon grow enough to meet even half a wizard’s capabilities. Not only that, but that step up for muggles in the eyes of many wizards made them…approachable.” Grindelwald paused, looking into Credence now. “They grew closer to being on a level with wizards, and at the time it was very exciting, the idea that it could be possible for the two societies to live in harmony. But as you already know…things didn’t quite turn out that way.” 

Credence looked down at his plate. He could see what Grindelwald was angling for. It was much the same way he talked about Gwendoline and being a house elf rather than a wizard. But Credence couldn’t deny that it was true that things hadn’t worked out that way for muggles and wizards. Grindelwald didn’t have to go on, Credence already knew how non-wizarding people reacted when they found out that witches existed in their midst. So he nodded. He didn’t want to say more than that. This didn’t feel like one of Mary Lou’s tests, the way she worked moral quandaries into regular conversation and then judge her children’s responses, but he feared a test nonetheless. 

Grindelwald seem to accept it, at least, and relaxed back into his chair, his tone lighter. “Wizards lost much of their knowledge through the long years trying to integrate, or if not integrate, then at least emulate. There are plenty of country wizards who go years without seeing a muggle and yet still have been indoctrinated into their ways because the whole of wizarding culture changed. Without the necessity for it…those old methods in magic were all but lost.”

Credence looked up again. He imagined how it must have been for the knowledge of something like the Devil’s Bridge to fade away over time and he thought it incredibly sad. But he’d once listened to Mary Lou’s stories of the good settlers of the colonies who’d lost their own ways over time to the evils influenced by witchcraft and hedonism in modern society. Poetic, perhaps, how Grindelwald had been the one to bring him out of that thinking once and for all, and now Credence was too cautious to trust him without further evidence to the claim. Even Credence knew, after all, it was difficult to prove the nature of society. He’d watched Mary Lou struggle enough in her lectures. There was the bridge he’d seen for himself, and although it twisted him inside to think of such a beautiful, _magical_ place being lost to the world, it was only one example. 

“So how did you find all this?” Credence asked. “The Bridge, and about the old magic?” He hoped the question was not insulting, or insinuating anything, but Grindelwald had just told him that these things had been lost to wizarding people for a very long time. 

A smile curled the corner of Grindelwald’s lip. “A dedicated interest. Although much of the old ways were lost to time, there are a few relics that remain. In heirlooms hidden away by old families. Rooted in the stories we hand down from generation to generation…. Not all was lost.” 

Grindelwald glanced between their plates, noting Credence wasn’t going to finish. “But let us practice the basics now that you’ve had a taste of purer magic.” He rose and straightened his chair while Credence glanced at the food in front of him, knowing it was not right to waste anything. He had managed to drink most of the wine, but the glass had only been half full to begin with. With a snap of Grindelwald’s fingers, however, the plates vanished. Grindelwald must have read the guilt on Credence’s face because he just smiled and held out his hand. “Don’t worry. Your mother’s rules don’t apply here.”

It was a relief that Credence didn’t realise he’d be given, so he took the offered hand and let himself be helped up. He thought it strange at first, a gesture almost overly polite, until he felt slightly dizzy once he was standing. Nothing unmanageable, just a fuzziness in his head that he hadn’t quite realised was there until now. 

Grindelwald seemed to have expected it. “You’ve never had wine before.” It was an observation, and not one meant to tease. Grindelwald’s hand squeezed his shoulder before letting Credence stand on his own. 

“No. I’m ok though. Just feels weird,” Credence assured. He realised it might feel stronger for him because he was now much smaller, and vaguely wondered if that had been intentional on the other man’s part. 

“No matter. It’ll help you to feel relaxed anyway. We’ll only be doing simple spells.” Grindelwald led the way to the living room and he took out his wand. With a slow swish, the furniture slid apart to make room for them to stand in the middle. There was plenty of space, but not as much as there had been in the other place when Credence had practised the severing charm. 

Credence held his wand in both hands, unsure as Grindelwald went to stand opposite him. The man stood there for a moment, and then, just when Credence thought he was going to perform a spell, the guise of Mr. Graves dropped from his features.


	6. Chapter 6

Credence shouldn’t have been surprised to see Grindelwald’s real face. He wasn’t startled, exactly, not like he might have been a day or so ago, but still Grindelwald had been keeping up the illusion with Credence more often than not. Until they went to the other place.

The man raised his hand, palm up, and gave a flick of his wand over it. Left behind was a single, white feather that floated down into his palm. “One of the first spells wizards learn is the levitation charm, wingardium leviosa,” Grindelwald explained. With another flick of his wand, the feather lifted into the air. It rose above their heads before gliding down to Credence, who followed it with rapt attention. It came closer and closer, moving with the tip of Grindelwald’s wand, until it tickled Credence’s nose and he gave a laugh before he could think. Perhaps it was his body’s way to release some of his nervousness.

He plucked it out of the air and turned it over in his hand, glancing between it and his wand in the other. “What if it was something heavier?” He remembered Mr. Graves first showing him magic. He’d levitated the leaflets out of the stack where Credence had set them while they talked in private. He’d seen Grindelwald and Gwendoline levitate other things before, plates and such, but he couldn’t remember anything larger than that. 

“It takes more skill and more effort,” Grindelwald explained, lifting the feather out of Credence’s hand again with a swish of his wand and bringing it back to him. With another movement of his wand, he drew a small table from across the room and set the feather down atop it. He then went to Credence’s side. “Focus your attention on the feather and direct your wand toward it. The spell requires both a wand movement and pronouncing the spell aloud. Give it a swish and a flick like so while saying ‘wingardium leviosa’.” Grindelwald demonstrated with his own wand, although Credence had noticed he’d not needed to say the spell when he’d lifted it just a moment ago. But he’d seen Grindelwald do a lot of magic with neither a spoken command nor a wand, so he decided this was just the beginning. 

Credence tried to straighten his shoulders, remembering that he should stand with intent as Grindelwald had forced him to do in the clearing, crouched down behind Credence. It wasn’t as easy on his own, but his mind was still fuzzy and that did allow him to relax better, to lift his wand and turn it into a quick swish and flick at the feather as he said the name of the spell aloud. With his mind in a light haze from the wine and his focus on the feather and repeating the right words, he’d almost forgotten what had happened the first time he flicked his wand. 

The feather gave a lurch from its position atop the table, lifted an inch into the air, and then thick oil dripped down its pristine barbs, coating it in black as it dropped to the ground. 

Credence stood in shock. 

Grindelwald did not leave his side to retrieve the feather. He lifted his hand and drew it back into the air, bringing it to them to inspect. “Interesting,” was his only response before producing another and vanishing the former with a wave of his hand. The new feather was just as pristine as the other had been. He sent it back to the table. “Give it another try.”

Credence’s heart sank, but he did. He raised his wand again, making sure the motion was exactly the same as Grindelwald demonstrated, and said, louder this time, “Wingardium leviosa.”

Just like the time before, the feather lurched and there was an unpleasant squelch as oil splattered somehow from inside it. It dropped to the floor where it marred the white rug. 

“It’s not working,” Credence whispered as Grindelwald waved away the feather again. “Something is wrong with me.” The trouble was that they already knew something was wrong with Credence. They’d gone into this knowing that. This is what Credence had feared the first time he’d ever tried to perform magic out there behind the Bridge. He couldn’t do it, and he was going to disappoint the man who’d brought him here. 

But Grindelwald’s hands clasped his shoulders and turned Credence towards him, bringing them a step closer together. His touch was gentle again, reassuring the part of Credence’s mind that was ready to sink into it, but it didn’t take away all of the worry. “You knew this was going to be a challenge,” Grindelwald reminded him. “You cannot give up so soon.” 

Credence tried to believe it. He nodded and even set his jaw in determination, trying to call upon the way it felt to find confidence in not caring anymore. He couldn’t quite manage it, but he let Grindelwald turn him back to the table and lend him another feather. 

They did this over and over again, and no matter how much Credence tried, the oily dark substance always interfered. It polluted his magic just as he feared it polluted his insides. 

Then Grindelwald sank down to his knees behind Credence again, just like he’d done in the clearing, and took Credence into his arms. He guided Credence’s wand hand with his own, and when he asked Credence to say the spell aloud, Credence thought Grindelwald might be thinking it with him. When their hands moved together, Credence thought Grindelwald’s magic might have been aiding his own, guiding it, because although the feather was again coated in the dark residue, it did lift into the air. It lifted high and followed the tip of Credence’s wand as Grindelwald guided his hand, but the moment Grindelwald’s hand left his, it dropped. 

Credence hung his head, even when a chaste kiss was placed upon his temple. “That’s okay. We’ll try again later.” Grindelwald was being kind, but Credence knew now how much the man wanted capability and little else. 

“I’m sorry,” Credence whispered. Reflexively, he turned and his hands clutched at Grindelwald’s shirt until the man pulled away and stood. Credence couldn’t make him stay. This hadn’t been like the last time. Credence had feared he wouldn’t live up to the man’s expectations, but it had gone well in the end. Now it hadn’t, and he feared he was going to be abandoned. He couldn’t fight the persistence of the feeling, even though it was one he might have hoped for not long ago, that he could get away from this man’s control and escape somewhere else even if it would be difficult when he looked like a child. He was at least whole again. But now he found that the thought of being abandoned before he was ready for it was awful. “Please. Don’t leave.” Credence reached out for the hem of Grindelwald’s waistcoat again. It didn’t matter that the man was unfamiliar in appearance; Credence wanted him to stay. He wanted to know that this wasn’t going to change anything. 

“Credence.” There was a note of sternness in Grindelwald’s tone. “Don’t cling. I told you this is alright. To be expected, even. I’m not going anywhere.” He sounded gentler in the end, but his larger hands found Credence’s where they clutched at the smooth fabric of his shirt and he pulled them free. Grindelwald held them by the wrist in a tight grip. Credence probably couldn’t have pulled away if he’d tried. “We will try this again, and we’ll try other spells, too, but not now. It may take some time.” 

Credence could feel his lip quivering. Grindelwald was trying to reassure him, but it still sounded too stern. He still didn’t know how long the man would wait for him to get stronger. He hadn’t waited very long to throw Credence away the last time. So Credence tried to nod, and he let out a weak “Okay”, but he still couldn’t make himself believe it. 

He tried very hard to keep himself under control when Grindelwald released his hands. He couldn’t let the man see how much this affected him. He knew it was his very first try in the real world, and he _couldn’t_ be weak. Not in front of this man. So he lowered his hands down to his sides and did his best to straighten his shoulders again, even though he would never stand up quite as tall as Grindelwald himself, and lowered his gaze. He swallowed and did his absolute best to school his expression, and did everything he could not to seem needy. _But Credence was weak_ , the voice in the back of his mind told him. He could only cover it up so much. Eventually, Grindelwald would know, and Credence was sure the man already suspected. 

Grindelwald looked at him for a long moment. His hand came down on Credence’s shoulder and squeezed. “Sit down. Get some rest.” And then the hand was gone. Grindelwald was stepping back and with a long arc of his wand the furniture moved back into place and the stains on the rug from all the failed feathers faded away into nothingness. 

Credence knew his failure couldn’t be wiped away so easily, and he watched the man walk away, leaving him there in the living room to think about what had happened. He stood where he was for a long time, unable to bring himself out of the mental space he’d been left in. The room seemed lonelier now than it had during the day. He couldn’t look out the window and watch the people pass below with the same feeling he could before, not with the darkness marring the sky just like his own darkness had marred the feathers. 

He sat down on the couch and curled into himself, not wanting to think about future attempts at magic. He didn’t want to hold his wand anymore, so he put it on the table and just stared at it. He wondered how he would feel if he’d been great at magic. If he’d been naturally talented, or even just average. If he could perform these spells like normal wizarding children did with their first wands on their first days of school. He was so far behind….

He could hear the wind blowing outside, a not very subtle reminder of just how unfavourable the weather was this time of year and how barren the landscape had been. Credence knew nothing of Germany, but so far its winter didn’t seem any more forgiving than that of New York. He didn’t even speak the language. If Grindelwald did throw him out, he wouldn’t have an easy time getting by.

Briefly, he wondered if he could call Gwendoline just to keep him company. She was kind. She was someone who could maybe understand how worried he was. Or how worthless he felt. If house elves ever felt that way…. But Credence also knew she wouldn’t go against Grindelwald’s wishes, and Grindelwald probably did not want the little elf back unless she was doing something useful. He probably wouldn’t think of consoling Credence as useful. And even then, he’d just be asking to take up her time and attention for another demand. When Credence had lived in the church, every moment alone may have been lonely, but at least it was far away from Mary Lou. 

So he kept quiet, if not calm, and did his best to stay put. He couldn’t hear anything from the other room, or from anywhere in the flat, and it bothered him. 

When he didn’t feel like he could sit there any longer, Credence got up and went to the hall. He knew Grindelwald had just reprimanded him for being clingy, but…Credence wanted to know where he was. Maybe if Credence seemed calm enough, he wouldn’t get such a reaction again. He didn’t need much, just to know that he wasn’t going to be alone. 

He found the door at the end of the hall shut, however. 

He debated knocking, but not for very long. Grindelwald wouldn’t like that. So he stood there in front of the door until the only option became apparent and he went back to the living room. It was still too early for bed, Credence reminded himself. Grindelwald was just in the study. He probably wasn’t going to stay there all night. It bothered him that he felt so upset about this. It bothered him that he was quickly growing to need the man, to depend on his attention and approval, but right now Credence felt like he really did need it. 

He curled up on the couch again and wrapped his arms around himself before he caught sight of the wand. Before he knew it, tears were threatening at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to be as desperate and needy as the little boy he appeared to be now, but that was how he felt. He couldn’t perform magic and he didn’t exactly have a winning personality either, not like the powerful people he’d seen in New York, and not like Mr. Graves. No one was going to want to be around him for long. 

The tears started to come. He couldn’t hold it back. Maybe if he was quiet enough, then Grindelwald wouldn’t notice, Credence decided. He probably wasn’t going to come back soon, and since Credence couldn’t stop anyway, he decided that at least he wouldn’t be seen. That should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. He tried to curl into a tighter ball. He tried to hold everything in. The more it came out, the harder he tried to pull it back. Until everything inside him exploded. 

All at once, he was no longer Credence. He was no longer constrained to a physical body and the limitations of a human mind. He was pure emotion and pure power again. Like this, as his vision went hazy and the dark tendrils of himself stretched out through the room, he didn’t need to answer to anyone. The pain inside him reached out and flung a glass vase across the room. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t even been angry at first, not at anyone but himself, but now his hurt was morphing into something he could direct outward, smashing a potted plant and overturning the tables in a whirlwind of pain that he no longer cared to keep inside. 

The darkness in him was just reaching for the painting on the wall when a figure stepped into the room below. He caught sight of light hair and straight shoulders, a posture perfect and seemingly unafraid of him, but Credence didn’t stop to consider further. He dove down to attack before it registered in his mind that he might be going too far. 

The blond man simply raised a wand and stepped out of his way, and then Credence was hurdling past him, unable to stop before he crashed into the opposite hallway. He felt dizzy very suddenly. And drained. The man stepped closer, wand out and glowing, and Credence’s tendrils sank against the floor. He didn’t have it in him to attack again. He felt like he was spread too thin, that he was going to fade away. The man said something, but Credence couldn’t pay attention when the feeling inside him was vastly more important, until he found himself spread out no more, but instead curled up and huddling against the wall with his ears suddenly attuned to the man’s words. 

“Credence,” the man—Grindelwald—was calling, drawing him back to coherency. He reached out and touched Credence’s shoulder, but when it was clear Credence didn’t want to uncurl himself, Grindelwald lifted him into his arms and Credence didn’t have much choice but to turn in to the man’s chest. 

Grindelwald stroked his hair and turned back to the room. Credence didn’t want to look, but to his surprise, the man gave a quiet chuckle. It was only then that Credence peeked out because he could not fathom what would seem funny about what he’d just done. 

The living room was destroyed. Broken glass and dirt from the plant littered the rug. The couch and a few of the tables were overturned. Paintings hung askew and one had been ripped and was now resting in its broken frame on the floor. There was even a crack in the plaster of the wall. Credence turned his face back into Grindelwald’s collar. He couldn’t imagine why the man had laughed. 

The sound of scraping followed by a great crunch as something large hit the floor made Credence curl in tighter, but then they were moving and Credence was being settled down into Grindelwald’s lap on the couch, which meant that had been what he’d just heard putting itself back in place. 

“That was better than the last time I’d seen you go into obscurus form,” Grindelwald commented, running his hands gently down Credence’s back. Credence had no idea what he was talking about until he went on. “You may have tired quickly, but you managed to do a fair bit of damage this time.” 

It began to dawn on Credence then that the tone he didn’t recognise from Grindelwald was _pride_. 

He felt like his world had just been turned upside down. The tears stopped and even his breathing grew steadier with sheer surprise pushing the worst of his fears away. “You’re not angry?” Credence dared to look up at the man looking down at him nestled in his arms. 

“For the room?” Grindelwald glanced around them with a curve to his mouth. “You can trash a hundred rooms if you like, Credence. I can fix every one of them within moments. And it would be worth it to see you like that, with such grace and such power.” Grindelwald’s fingers brushed his cheek, wiping the wetness away. “You are beautiful. And you’ll be magnificent again one day, soon. You have no idea.” There was a light in his eye now, like Credence had done something he had only hoped the boy would do but had refrained to say aloud. 

Credence didn’t know exactly what was different, except that his obscurus form might be regaining some of its power, but he’d been wishing for the man to come back and not to abandon him, and now here he was. Credence clung tight to Grindelwald’s shirt and let his tears be dried when a handkerchief replaced the fingers on his cheek. 

“I’d like you to call me Gellert now.” Grindelwald said it gently enough to be a request. 

Credence blinked. He nodded. It was a name he’d never used before. It didn’t feel familiar at all, but neither did Grindelwald, he supposed. He hadn’t really been calling the man anything out loud the last few days, but Credence remembered he’d been given permission to keep using ‘Mr. Graves’ if he wanted. It was a new intimacy and still foreign at the same time. “I’m sorry I lost control.” Credence wanted the man to know that much. Even if the state of the room didn’t matter. He still wanted him to know Credence wasn’t entirely hopeless. 

The corner of Gellert’s mouth twitched again. “It will be important that you learn how to direct yourself better in obscurus form. However, I’m not interested in keeping it subdued.” He petted Credence’s hair. “This is a time of learning. I know you must have been feeling upset for it to come out now, but I really am not angry. Quite the contrary.” That light of excitement was back in Gellert’s eye, but it didn’t make him look at all wholesome. He lifted Credence up so that the boy had to sit properly on his lap instead of curling against his chest and it brought them face to face. Gellert’s smile widened when Credence felt himself settle atop something rigid and realised what it was. 

Credence froze, too startled for any more tears to come. His hands were pressed to Gellert’s chest and he could feel the man’s heart beating steadily beneath them. His arms fell to Credence’s waist and hooked loosely around his back, not quite keeping Credence there with force, but keeping him there all the same. Credence found it a constant in his life, not knowing what to say, but with this man he found himself speechless daily. He swallowed. “You…,” Credence wanted to say something, but he couldn’t force the words out, explicitly. “You’re really not upset.” That was as direct as he could manage. 

Gellert’s smile widened into a grin, teeth and everything. “No.” He shook his head. He was looking at Credence in a way that he had never quite done as Mr. Graves until that morning. Like Credence was beautiful, and like he was excited about it. His time as Mr. Graves had been fond looks, the way he sought Credence’s eyes and refused to let him look away, but had always done so gently, if firmly. Credence had wanted him so much then, but he hadn’t realised the difference between that and…this. He now suspected that had been Gellert encouraging Credence’s own desires. This was…clearly a desire of Gellert’s own. Credence’s cheeks heated, thinking about it like that. It felt alien to be wanted, and such a twist from how he’d been minutes ago, but Gellert’s thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of his cheek. “You’re blushing, Credence.” 

“I just. I—wasn’t expecting…this.” All Credence could do was mumble. 

“You weren’t expecting _this_?” Gellert rocked his hips up and lifted Credence with him, causing a gasp to escape his throat, unsure whether it was because he wasn’t expecting the motion or whether it was because of how well he could suddenly feel the man’s cock trapped beneath his trousers. “No, I suppose not.” Gellert chuckled at Credence’s reaction and cupped his face, pressing a kiss to one of his heated cheeks. “You were expecting me to be angry with you, whether you knocked the furniture over or not. You were expecting me to leave you out here for the rest of the night after I’d finished with my letters, and probably not invite you to my bed again.” 

The heat of Credence’s cheeks bloomed all over him just hearing Gellert mention the word ‘bed’ with all its implications. 

“Well I had no such intentions, Credence. And now you’ve gone and piqued my interest.” Gellert bent down, running his nose up the side of Credence’s cheek. 

All Credence could do was gasp. Everything had changed so rapidly, his head was spinning. Just like that morning, he knew he’d wanted this, but he didn’t know what to do with it. It was overwhelming. But there was one thing he knew he did want. “Just…don’t leave me?” Credence twisted his fists in Gellert’s waistcoat.

“Oh no, Credence. I’m not going to leave you.” With that, Gellert lifted him up from the couch and before Credence knew it, they were headed down the hall. 

They passed his room and went into Gellert’s, where he laid Credence down on the bed. He didn’t have much chance to orient himself before Gellert was climbing up with him. Credence found his arms around the man’s neck when he leaned down for a kiss simply because there was nowhere else to put them. It was a strange feeling, suddenly realising he had never touched the other man like that before. He’d never put his hands on Gellert’s back, or neck, or anywhere other than his front and his hands. Gellert had always been the one touching him. But the man didn’t seem to mind as he manoeuvred his body over Credence’s, careful not to put his full weight on him. Credence gasped when they broke apart. He had trouble breathing in general with Gellert against him, and not because his air was constricted. 

“This is…. I don’t know if I can do this,” Credence admitted, memories of that morning flashing through his mind. He’d wanted this so much not long ago, but wanting was one thing when he knew it was something he could never have. Graves wouldn’t have wanted him if the man knew what Credence desired, but it was more than that. He’d hated what his mother told him about himself. He’d hated how they lived. But he’d always tried to find something to believe in, even if it was kept secret inside himself, and deep down, he’d always feared these things he wanted….

“Your mother isn’t here, Credence,” Gellert whispered into his ear, letting one of his large hands rub over Credence’s chest through the starched fabric of his shirt. Credence had been as casual as he felt appropriate that day and had foregone the braces and waistcoat. “There is no one but me. Not your church or your god.” Gellert’s hand began to move down his body and Credence squirmed at how good it felt. It found the button to Credence’s trousers. “Just. Me.” One after the other in an efficient motion, Gellert undid them and then pressed his palm over the front of Credence’s pants. 

Credence’s mouth dropped open and he gave a cry. The hand started rubbing him, like it had done against his chest, and he couldn’t stop his hips from pressing back into it. He whined, not wanting to fight this. It was strange, he’d always fantasised about Mr. Graves looking like Mr. Graves—since that man had entered his life, it had been impossible to think of anyone else—but Credence found that the change wasn’t putting him off. It hadn’t in the other place, even though they were meant to be training then, and it didn’t here, not when Gellert pressed his chin to Credence’s chest and looked up at him with manic, devilish intent. The man was still exceedingly handsome, just in a different way. 

“Enjoy this with me. I know you’ve wanted to. You wanted to this morning.” Credence couldn’t help but watch the way Gellert’s lips formed the words. There was a constant curl to their corners, sometimes when he wasn’t really smiling, but it really was noticeable when he was. He looked like he wanted to eat Credence up. 

Credence’s mouth opened. If he agreed, he didn’t even know what he was agreeing to. What Gellert had done to him that morning, though…. “Like before?” Credence asked, searching Gellert’s face for any hint of intention beyond the desire alone. 

“I had something a little different in mind this time.” Gellert’s teeth flashed, and then he lifted a little and removed his hand from the front of Credence’s pants to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was a slow process, one that had Credence breathing heavily and watching every step of the way, forgetting entirely that Gellert could have used magic to do this if he’d wanted to. 

When they were half undone, Gellert bent down again to press a kiss to Credence’s sternum. No one had ever kissed him there before. It felt better than Credence imagined it could have, even when the man’s stubble tickled. His mouth was soft in contrast. Credence’s hands laid atop Gellert’s shoulders, but he didn’t attempt to push the man back. He didn’t even want to. He could feel every movement Gellert made as he worked his way down to Credence’s stomach, and again Credence was stuck on how strange it felt to touch him, even if it was only feeling the way his shoulders moved under Credence’s hands. 

The last button fell away and Gellert pushed aside the fabric to expose Credence’s bare stomach, rising and falling with every breath he took. Gellert opened his mouth and Credence shivered at the feeling of teeth scraping against his skin. The idea that this man wanted to devour him came back full force in Credence’s mind. He shivered at the thought, but it was not unpleasant. It was the good kind of shivering Credence had always longed for, and Gellert had very intentionally caused it. 

The man’s mouth moved lower still, until Credence started to think he could go no farther, that surely he had to stop soon or else…. His jaw brushed the hem of Credence’s pants, just above where he knew his erection was standing, nowhere near as big as it had been in his old body, but there was no way Gellert could miss it if…. He nuzzled lower. 

Credence gasped as he felt hot breath through the fabric of his undergarments. Apparently, that was exactly where Gellert had planned to go. Instead of Gellert’s palm, his mouth nuzzled there instead. Credence started whimpering just from the shock of it. He thought…he’d heard of prostitutes doing this, but not…never someone like Grindelwald. 

The man lifted only to press a kiss to the crease between Credence’s pelvis and his thigh while he pulled down the pants in his way. Credence made a grab for them too late, and then he was bare before Gellert. His pants and trousers caught around his knees and he couldn’t move his legs very well because of it. If that had been intentional, Credence couldn’t tell. Gellert just kissed Credence’s lower abdomen again before taking in the sight of him. 

Credence flushed redder than he’d ever been before, he was sure, and yet his little cock still stood between his legs, no amount of shame at his nakedness diminishing its excitement. Credence had always thought the act of sucking cock was meant for the benefit solely of the man getting sucked, but when Gellert met his eyes for a split second and grinned before he dropped back down to take Credence in his mouth, he realised he had made a grave error in judgement. 

With every movement Gellert made, pleasure coursed through him. The feel of the man’s mouth on him, of his _tongue_ curling around Credence’s small length, he couldn’t believe he was feeling this. Never had he imagined it quite like _this_. It felt like something that should have been vulgar. The heat and the wetness of it, the way it brought desire crawling up Credence’s insides almost as tangibly as the force of the obscurus. But it was Gellert who was giving him this, and Gellert, in spite of how much he seemed to indulge in wickedness, was a man who could never be described as filthy. Not to Credence’s mind. Not even when he thought he should hate the man. 

Credence’s fingers dragged along Gellert’s back. He stopped thinking about whether the man approved of being touched or not until Credence felt skin against his hands, just over the collar of Gellert’s shirt. The man gave no pause in the rhythmic suction of his mouth and tongue, but Credence trembled just to touch him there. 

When Gellert shifted to pull Credence’s trousers all the way down and settled himself between Credence’s legs, Credence instinctively spread them wider. He didn’t dare grip at the back of the man’s neck, but he wanted to. Badly. He needed something to hold onto, something to ground him for the sheer force of the pleasure, and then Gellert’s hands came up to stroke at his sides while the man sucked. His hands ran down Credence’s body, and Credence trembled and squirmed beneath them. It wasn’t that he wanted to get away. He _liked_ them. He wanted to feel them there, holding onto him. 

When Gellert’s hands reached his hips, they gripped tight and pressed Credence down, pushing him into the mattress while Gellert gave a particularly strong suck. He moved like he wanted to pin Credence there. 

Credence’s hands went slack. His back arched, but he didn’t fight it. His whole body relaxed into the feeling of being held down. Even his squirming stopped, but for the little thrusts of his hips that seemed involuntary at this point. It was euphoric, letting go of every response, of even trying to react or to think about this, and giving himself up to this man. Credence had never felt like this before. In a dark, dusty corner of his mind, he remembered the way Mary Lou described the way it should feel to give one’s self up to God. 

He felt no shame in the thought now. It came unbidden, a memory and no more. He was far too relaxed to give it any more weight. But it was then that the pleasure between his legs peaked, then that Gellert sped up and focused the rhythm of his tongue, and Credence came in a silent cry. 

Gellert didn’t lift off right away, but he did slow down, gently easing the ministrations of his tongue until Credence whimpered aloud, unable to take any more. Credence had thrown his head back, but when he felt cool air against his sensitive cock, he peeked down and saw Gellert, mouth open, laving his tongue around the very tip like it was the tiniest lollipop. 

Credence took in a shaky breath. The sight of it was like a punch to the gut with desire, again. He swore he felt his cock twitch, and then Gellert grinned as he finally let Credence go. The man must have felt it, too. Credence wasn’t sure why that brought more of a blush to his cheeks after what had just happened, but then Gellert pressed a gentle kiss to his lower belly, and looked back up. 

Their eyes met and Credence, chest still heaving with every breath, did not dare look away. He watched as Gellert rose and began undoing his cuff links. It wasn’t until the man’s hands went for his collar that Credence realised where this was heading. His eyes widened as nimble fingers undid the buttons down Gellert’s front and a strip of pale skin was revealed beneath. The line of his chest and stomach was mesmerising, Credence thought. And then those hands were undoing the button of his trousers and Credence couldn’t help but shift where he sat. Gellert’s hand dipped inside and Credence could see it moving, gripping, what laid beneath. The man smirked at him, and for one perilous second Credence realised just how much Gellert was enjoying having Credence below him. It was the delight of Credence’s shock, perhaps, and he was so easily shocked by all this. Or perhaps it was just the delight in power, purely physical. Credence hadn’t thought to give that up in the height of his pleasure, but he couldn’t help but think twice about it now. 

Gellert descended before his hand left his trousers, bringing himself half over Credence with his weight on one elbow. “I hope you liked that.” He was suddenly, entirely too close, just staring at Credence. “I think you did.” As though Credence was denying it, but maybe Gellert was reading his uncertainty. “Would you like to touch me?” 

Credence glanced down and Gellert removed his hand from his trousers, leaving the rigid bulk of his cock trapped beneath the material. The size of a grown man’s cock was somehow much larger in Credence’s head now than it had been before. Compared to how small he was, the bulge in Gellert’s trousers looked huge. “I…haven’t ever…,” Credence began, but cut off when Gellert took hold of his wrist. 

“But would you _like_ to?” Gellert asked again. “I would let you.” He bent to Credence’s ear, and Credence felt the brush of something wet over the lobe before realising it was Gellert’s tongue. He licked Credence there like he’d licked the tip of his cock, a strange reminder of the act, not at all decent, but not wholly unpleasant either. “I would show you how.” 

Credence watched as Gellert guided his hand down to the front of the man’s trousers with only a little resistance. It was uncertainty more than anything that caused that resistance. As much as he desired, it had always been difficult for Credence to imagine touching another man like this. And now…. 

Gellert turned his palm out, let the tips of his fingers brush against the coarse fabric, and then, slowly, he pressed Credence’s hand down. Immediately, Credence could feel the heat of it. And the girth. 

He inhaled quietly, suddenly grateful for Gellert’s guidance. If he’d been asked to do this without the man’s hand over his, he wouldn’t have been able to. Gellert guided his fingers around the shaft, through the fabric, and slowly began to move his hand up and then down. Credence inhaled sharply when he felt it twitch in his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Gellert smile, and then very suddenly he was being kissed. Credence hadn’t expected it. Gellert was just there, mouth seeking Credence’s, while his hand still worked Credence’s over his cock. The man shifted into it, a lithe, sinewy motion Credence wouldn’t have been able to see so well had his head not been pressed back by the force of Gellert’s kiss. With Gellert’s hand wrapped around his own, he could feel the tension in the man’s body, and Gellert squeezed a little too hard. But he eased up a moment later, catching himself and releasing Credence to place a kiss on his cheek to comfort him. 

“You are beautiful, my boy.” Gellert stroked Credence’s hair with his free hand, and Credence could see that he was catching his breath. A sense of awe came over him, in spite of how intimidating Gellert felt in his palm, that such a capable man could be moved to breathlessness because of him was a thought incomprehensible. He was sure he would be blushing again if he wasn’t already. 

Credence finally gathered the courage to look back down. He watched his hand moving under Gellert’s, who’d loosened his grip enough that it wasn’t painful anymore. Tentatively, Credence squeezed on the slow stroke down, just to see what would happen. 

Gellert drew in a breath. “Just like that,” he said, letting it out. Credence did it again, glancing up to Gellert’s face. He’d been hoping to read what reaction he could, but as soon as Gellert saw him looking, a slow smile spread over the man’s features again. “Would you like a little more?” 

Gellert didn’t wait for Credence’s answer before he brought his hand up over the waist and pressed it to the marble skin of his lower belly. There was a dusting of hair there, as there had once been on Credence, but somehow he didn’t think to expect it. Gellert pushed his fingers beneath his trousers, letting them glide along until they reached the shaft of the man’s cock. Credence’s mouth fell open when he felt it. He didn’t try to pull away. This had already gone too far, he thought, and Gellert didn’t stop until he’d wrapped Credence’s small hand around himself with his own over it. Together, he guided them in one long stroke from base to tip before working it out of his trousers. 

Credence had a very good mental image already, but his mouth still dropped open at the sight of it. It was thick and standing proud, flushed deeper than the colour of Gellert’s skin anywhere else. Credence never thought he’d be touching another man like this. He’d been nervous about the idea that morning, and now that he was, it was both incredibly intimidating, and yet…not that bad. In fact, it was the look on Gellert’s face more than anything else that sparked an interest in Credence to continue. Credence hadn’t noticed how long his eyelashes were until the lids were lowered, and though he still held that little curve at the corners of his mouth, it was now parted in pleasure. 

Gellert whispered something Credence didn’t catch. At first he thought it was meant for him, but then suddenly he felt a slickness between his hand and Gellert’s flesh. It took him a second longer to realise what happened. He wanted to ask to confirm, but was afraid it would sound too obscene. Gellert only chuckled. 

“Magic is useful for a great many things,” he whispered in Credence’s ear. It sent a shiver down his spine to hear that he was right as much as the sensation of warmth against his lobe and the slickness of lubrication between his fingers. That _did_ feel obscene, but Gellert seemed to enjoy it, not at all phased. He hadn’t shown distaste for anything, although Gellert was the one leading in these activities. Credence really didn’t know what to expect. 

Gellert bent down to kiss Credence again. The man’s tongue found its way back into his mouth and between that and the things his hand was doing under Gellert’s control, Credence felt as dirty as he’d ever felt in his life, and he realised with mild surprise it was turning him on again. 

When Gellert pulled back, he gave Credence’s hand one more squeeze around his cock and hissed in pleasure. Then his hands were moving to Credence’s legs, tossing the tangled mess of his trousers out of the way, but to Credence’s surprise, Gellert pressed his legs together. “Hold like that for me. As tight as you can,” he breathed against Credence’s mouth in between another kiss. 

Credence let himself fall back when Gellert pressed him down, both hands on the sides of Credence’s hips, and then there was something blunt pressing between his thighs. Credence opened his eyes and looked down to see Gellert’s length sinking between them, just under his own erection. Credence gasped. Another muttered word from Gellert eased the way with slickness again, and Credence felt it rub up underneath his balls, with Gellert’s hard length working up where no one had ever touched before and the liquid slick permeating everywhere Credence thought possible. 

Now Gellert was looking down between them, too. Instead of his eyes glazing over, they seemed to spark with satisfaction. He rocked forward and sank all the way down until his hips met Credence’s, pressing him deep into the bed with his weight. Gellert had to lift himself up on both hands while he moved just to avoid smothering him, and all Credence could do was either stare up at him or watch where their hips met and Gellert’s cock disappeared. He didn’t forget to keep his legs tight together, but it wasn’t easy with half the man’s weight atop him. When Gellert pulled back, Credence felt the length of him slide along his most private area, underneath his balls and his own straining little cock, and it felt good. Surprisingly good. 

He couldn’t help think about the act this was simulating as Gellert’s hips began to find a rhythm. In and out his cock disappeared between Credence’s flesh, and Credence only wanted to feel more of it. It was like being submerged in sensation. More than sensation. A deep desire bubbling up within him, just like when he’d climaxed minutes ago. His body remembered that feeling and craved it now. With every thrust Gellert brought that desire back, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. Credence needed to be touched. This part was all for Gellert, he knew, but still he wanted it more than anything now, so he pressed his legs together hard and squirmed when Gellert sank down again, trying to get some friction for himself and crying in frustration when it didn’t work. 

Above him, Gellert groaned, so Credence must have done something right. Gellert’s hips rocked into him with more force that time, and again the next. He looked down at Credence, mouth open in a wide grin between breaths, and just took him in like Credence was something to be consumed with his eyes as much as his body. When Gellert’s gaze found its way to the source of Credence’s frustration, he let out a chuckle. 

“Already, Credence?” Credence felt a hand in his hair and closed his eyes tight, feeling like he was being teased. Gellert bent low and softened his voice like a secret between them. “You’re going to be insatiable soon.” 

Something twisted inside Credence, remembering Mary Lou chastising him so similarly for such minor infractions compared to this. He always knew what she really meant though. Sweets would lead to a sweet tooth. Idleness would lead to slothfulness, which would lead to worse. Desires had to be restrained. He always knew she was eluding to other desires she refused to speak of explicitly. If they were fed, he would become exactly what Gellert was suggesting, but Gellert sounded delighted at the prospect of it. 

Gellert lowered himself enough to rest on his forearm and let one hand trail down Credence’s neck, down his chest, his stomach, and finally, _finally_ , graze against his little cock. It made him whimper and squirm again, still a little sensitive from before, but also so, so ready to feel that touch again. With a chuckle and another word from Gellert, the man’s fingers around him grew slick, and in no time he was stroking Credence in time with the thrusts of his cock between Credence’s legs. 

Credence tried to stay quiet, he really did, and he’d always thought he could be so good at it before he experienced _this_ , but there was no holding back the whimpers even if he managed to keep them subdued and lodged in the back of his throat. Gellert bent so that his lips brushed the top of Credence’s head, and he stayed there like he was drinking in the scent of him. There was nothing chaste about the gesture. Gellert was over Credence and in between him and wrapped around him all at once, magnificently close and yet it was all too much at once. He moved Credence with him whenever he rocked forward, like Credence was becoming an extension of his body, a part of his will. 

It was nice not to have to think about anything, that no responsibility for this lay on his shoulders. All he had to do was let in the haze of sensation. He did not have to decide what to do, and he would not be held accountable for what they’d done after, although he knew he’d given in, and that was tantamount to actively participating. Still, it had only been reluctantly. He hung on to the thought that it didn’t matter, that nothing mattered except the way this man’s fingers felt around his cock and the way it felt to be wanted. To be wanted by someone powerful. It was a way he’d never felt wanted by God. Gellert gave him sweet words that sounded honest, Gellert gave him touches and lingering looks, and Gellert gave him apologies for what he’d done. For not seeing how much he wanted Credence with him. That was the best that Credence had ever gotten. God had never given him anything, only let him suffer in that dank church year after year, hopeless to escape the toil of Mary Lou’s rule, and above all, left him alone. 

Gellert was breathing hard now, as was Credence. Even in the midst of what was happening, Credence could barely believe this man was losing his composure with him. It struck him even though Gellert didn’t look like Mr. Graves anymore. _No one_ had ever looked at Credence like this man did. 

Credence felt fingers bury in his hair and hot breath against his temple. Gellert’s speed was picking up in both his thrusts and his strokes. 

“Squeeze for me, Credence. Tight as you can.” It came out breathless, but the demand was there. Gellert expected him to obey, and Credence didn’t think for a second that he could refuse. He pressed his legs together as hard as he could and felt Gellert’s thrusts begin to stutter. The man was gasping between deep grunts and then Credence heard him hiss before his hips came to a halt. 

Immediately, there was more wetness between Credence’s thighs, but he knew it wasn’t magic this time. He looked down and couldn’t see it, not with Gellert’s cock still buried there, but he could _feel_ it. He was panting as much as Gellert was, even though in the heat of the moment the man’s hand on him had slowed down. Just the _thought_ of Gellert coming with him…of having Gellert’s come _on_ him…. It should have been disgusting, Credence thought not for the first time, but he’d never felt more loved in his life. 

He whimpered and shifted as Gellert came down from the high, leaning his weight into Credence a little more than he probably meant to. Credence wanted more. Gellert’s hand had stopped, and he wanted to join him in this blissful moment. Gellert chuckled softly, maybe even a little dazedly if Credence wasn’t imagining it, before stroking Credence’s hair and pulling out from between his legs. 

Gellert’s cock was still reddened, still glistening from the lubrication and probably the come, and Credence couldn’t take his eyes off it as Gellert settled down beside him. He twisted his hips and whimpered again until Gellert squeezed him between his long fingers. Credence let his head fall back against the pillow, relieved to be getting what he wanted again. Once more, the word ‘insatiable’ flashed through his mind, but he tried to push it away and just enjoy this. 

Beside him, Gellert smiled. He leaned over Credence for another kiss. It started slowly, like he was making sure Credence wasn’t overwhelmed from the start, but he deepened it as soon as Credence proved himself pliable. It didn’t take long for Gellert’s fingers to pick up their pace either. In no time at all, Credence was whimpering and writhing beneath him again, this time letting his legs fall open and his hips buck against Gellert’s hand as though he could get more if he just tried hard enough. 

When Gellert began to stroke his thumb over the tip, Credence cried out. Gellert smiled into their kiss and did it again. Soon the man was swallowing Credence’s cries while Credence shuddered under his hands and then came. It felt like a shock through him, the crackle of electricity between his legs. Credence couldn’t liken it to anything else. But just as it had come down upon him, moments later he collapsed against the bed, exhausted. 

Gellert pressed kisses over the side of his face, and, thankfully, removed his fingers from Credence’s now very sensitive cock. 

All around them, the air was still. Not even the occasional car passing on the street below could be heard from this room, only their quiet breathing. Credence wasn’t ready to surface from the comfort of the haze he’d slipped into. Gellert was a warm presence curled around him, even if the man was still mostly dressed. Credence wasn’t. 

He remembered worrying about that this morning. A man’s hands on his skin in that manner was supposed to be unthinkable. He’d shied away from it then, but now here he lay in bed, stretched out as much as he could, legs askew without thought to dignity or modesty, and the wetness of this man’s come between them. It was just like he’d dreamed, if he were honest. Mr. Graves had taken him away and made Credence his. It just hadn’t happened exactly the way Credence thought it would. 

Curiously, he ran one small hand down his body. It was a smooth plane from his chest to his little cock, nestled between his legs, bare as everything else, and his hand slid easily down to his inner thigh. There he encountered the wetness and brought his fingers back up to look at it, white, but translucent. Just like his own had been when he used to wake dreaming in the middle of the night. Dreaming of Mr. Graves. He didn’t come like that now. 

Gellert nuzzled against the side of his face and he felt the man smile. “You didn’t explore yourself in the bath?” He sounded amused, but pleased also. 

Credence didn’t know how it was possible, but he flushed. Again. “I did…. A little bit,” Credence admitted. “Just not like this.” He’d looked at himself in the mirror, he’d ran his hands down his chest and his legs, but anxiety had been clouding his mind in the beginning. Now, in this moment, he felt for the first time free to explore more of himself, not even bothered by Gellert’s presence. The man had, after all, just been more intimate with him than anyone had ever been before. Credence didn’t see how a little more exploration could be worse than that. 

He lifted his knees up, planting his feet on the bed and stared at himself, trying to remember the last time he looked like he did now. Vague memories of cold nights in the same bed he’d slept in since he could remember came back to him, and then hot summer nights when he’d tossed aside the blankets and was desperate to disrobe further. Mary Lou would have had a fit if she found him like that in the morning though. Now that he thought about it, he remembered putting his knees up like he was now, trying to expose more of himself to the air instead of the bed, even though there was no breeze inside the church to speak of. Credence could not remember many times when he’d been naked without having to hurry up and finish washing, much less enjoy it. He knew his own body in the times he hastily bathed or dressed in the morning, and that was it. 

Credence bit his lip and placed his fingers on one knee, then trailed them up his thigh just for the feel of it. There was a bit of remaining wetness there, but he avoided it that time. Gellert’s attention followed his exploration. 

“Did you mean to make me look like this?” Credence asked. It just popped into his mind. He said it without thinking, which was very rare for him. He must have been more comfortable than he realised. 

“This is what you look like,” Gellert replied simply. “What you used to look like. I haven’t altered you in any other way.” 

“But I mean…did you want me to look like this?” Credence asked again. He was a little too nervous to look at Gellert when he talked to the man, but not enough to stop asking. 

Gellert hummed. “I won’t deny that I find you particularly delectable like this, but I had a similar temptation with your former appearance as well.” That did make Credence turn towards Gellert. He searched the man’s face for a lie, but could detect none. Gellert only smiled. “I simply resisted the urge to _take_ you.” 

He’d said something like that not long ago, but to hear it reiterated calmed Credence’s anxieties somewhat more now. Perhaps it helped that he was already so relaxed. 

It went against everything Credence had felt when he came with Gellert, but he wanted to thank the man now. For ‘taking’ him, in the end. Credence turned when Gellert’s arm laid over his waist and the man’s thumb drew down his chest. He shifted closer and looked up into the man’s face. He was about the same age as Mr. Graves, but he looked back at Credence with one pale blue eye and the other dark now. When Credence opened his mouth to speak, a fingertip stopped his words. 

Credence was surprised, but the corners of Gellert’s mouth lifted like he knew exactly what was on Credence’s mind. “You’re welcome,” Gellert said and replaced his finger against Credence’s lips with his own. Compared to the way they’d been kissing before, this was chaste, but it still lingered. 

Credence shivered and curled closer into Gellert’s warmth and the man slid his arm over Credence’s back. When they parted, Gellert glanced down at them both. The man’s shirt was tangled and his trousers were still open, although he’d tucked himself back inside. Credence, however, was a mess of sweat and fluids. With a wave of Gellert’s hand and another muttered spell, all of it was gone. Gellert’s clothes transformed into a soft nightshirt and pants that might have been silk. Credence had rarely laid hands on the material, and it felt wonderful under them now, smoother and softer than anything he could remember touching. 

Gellert’s smile widened, amused at Credence’s newest indulgence, and with another wave of his hand, one of the bedsheets lifted to pool over Credence’s shoulders and slip around him, morphing into a set of pyjamas with the same material. Credence held up his sleeves and ran his fingers over them in awe, more for the magic than the feel. 

“How do you do that? Do you have to think about it all the time once it’s made?” Credence drew his hands down the front, noticing buttons and a delicate stitch along the edges. All of these transformations seemed incredibly complex when he really thought about it. “How long does it last when you make something like this?” 

Gellert lifted a hand and let the back of his fingers trail after Credence’s, and Credence closed his eyes, revelling in being touched again. Even a touch as simple as this. “There are many different kinds of transfiguration. Some are more complex than others,” Gellert explained. “One textile into another isn’t so difficult. Most inanimate objects aren’t terribly difficult and will remain the way they are after they’ve been changed until they are deliberately changed back. Transfiguring living things, however, takes quite a lot more skill and concentration.” 

“Like when you…,” Credence trailed off, a little unsure if he should bring that up or not. 

Gellert only nodded. “Like when I change, yes. It’s a very intricate transformation, although once I’m wearing it, it’s much easier to hold that way. As you’ve noticed, I can do it in my sleep. It is certainly something that takes practise though.” 

Credence wondered if he’d ever be able to do something like that someday. And then he remembered what had happened earlier with his new wand. What had started all this and had gotten Gellert so excited in the first place. He must have frowned because Gellert was watching him and his thumb touched to Credence’s lower lip. It drew his attention back to the present. “Do you really think I can learn to do magic?” Credence asked. “Not just the kind that hurts people?” 

“I do.” Gellert said it so calmly, so deliberately, that it nearly reminded Credence of the way he spoke as Mr. Graves in those alleyways, reassuring him that everything would be well. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be quick. But I think you can do it.” 

Gellert’s assurances came with the creeping feeling still that if Credence didn’t manage to meet these expectations, he would be left behind. He would have to be, Gellert had essentially told him. So Credence nodded and tried to steel himself to work as hard as he possibly could, to learn as much as he could, and to do whatever he could not to fail. He only hoped that Gellert’s faith wasn’t misplaced. 

Gellert gave him a crooked smile and ran his hand through Credence’s hair, ruffling it even more than it had been so before. He had to sit up and search for the blankets before laying back down and drawing them around Credence, and Credence shuffled as close as he possibly could. He hadn’t slept next to someone else since he really was a child, but last night with Gellert’s arms around him was better than any sleep he remembered, and he desperately wanted the same tonight. A part of him still feared he was being too clingy, and that he might make the man uncomfortable if Gellert was used to sleeping alone. Credence didn’t know what was typically polite and what wasn’t when it came to sleeping with another person, he just knew he wanted to be close. 

To his relief, Gellert’s arms wrapped around him, folding the blanket around his back and holding him against Gellert’s chest. 

“You’ll be alright tonight?” Gellert asked. He might have been thinking of Credence’s outburst in the living room earlier. 

Credence nodded, brushing his nose into the silk of Gellert’s chest. “I will.” 

He relaxed after that, in mind and body both, and succumbed to sleep with the comfort of Gellert stroking his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise we'll see more Graves soon. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Gellert woke with the comfort of a small body in his arms, head tucked under his chin. He was lucky that Credence slept soundly, for his nose was pressed to Gellert’s collar and he hadn’t moved from that position for hours. Waking this way was rather enjoyable, Gellert decided, sleepily pressing his face into the soft mess of hair under his nose. He felt indulgent and didn’t want to get out of bed, and in truth it had been quite some time since he last felt this way, with pleasant memories of the night before still in the forefront of his mind. 

There wasn’t time for a repeat of such activities, however, and even he had to succumb to the dawn of the new day. Sunlight was already filtering through the window and it wouldn’t be long before Credence woke. The boy was so used to a rigid schedule of waking up just as the sun rose, if not earlier. 

Carefully, Gellert extricated himself from Credence and wrapped the heavy blankets around him in Gellert’s place, still warm enough with his body heat to keep the boy from waking, and then set about getting ready for the day. 

By the time Credence awoke, Gellert had bathed and set Gwendoline to preparing breakfast for them both. He greeted the boy with a kiss to the cheek when he poked his head around the corner of the hall, hands wrapped tight in his silk pyjamas and eyes just as wide and curious as ever. Credence’s anxieties had noticeably diminished since he’d arrived, but he was still not completely relaxed in this new setting, nor would he be for some time, Gellert assumed. 

He sent the boy off to clean up and afterwards they shared breakfast as amiably as they had done yet while Gellert made sure Gwendoline didn’t dawdle nearby to distract the boy. Credence still had trouble eating everything on his plate, but he made a valiant effort. 

“I’d like to make another visit to the bridge today,” Gellert informed Credence as he was staring down at his bacon, just one piece left. Credence looked up immediately and Gellert didn’t need legilimency to catch the spark of excitement in his eyes. He let the corner of his mouth lift in agreement. “You can practise your new spell, and there is something I’d like to pick up that might be useful for your little obscurus problem.” 

A crease drew between Credence’s brows. “What’s that?” Gellert had never told him of anything that could help before, although to be fair, they hadn’t talked about it much. He had to be wondering if there really was anything that could help him contain it at all. 

But Gellert shook his head. “In truth I’m not sure that it would have an effect at all, but it might. Although it’s nothing that can suppress the obscurus for you. It’s simply…a method we might use to direct it once its been set free. I know you have a measure of control already, but, if all goes well, this could help even more.”

Credence’s brow furrowed further still. “So, something that would help me control it better?” 

Gellert nodded. “Hopefully.” He caught the boy glance back to the living room, and Gellert gave a soft chuckle. “I’m not worried about that. Truly. But controlling it could be very useful in the future.” 

Credence turned back and nodded, looking slightly guilty. “Okay.” He was clearly trying to believe that he hadn’t done any real damage, but was having difficulty. 

Gellert had been able to bat the obscurus back with his own power when it had come at him the night before. It was still significantly weakened, half the size of what it had once been, but he’d had to be quick about it. While it might not be a danger now, and while Credence continued down this path of growing to trust him again, the boy himself would eventually not let it attack him, Gellert still wanted a surer method of control over it than that. 

When they’d finished, Credence still hadn’t managed the last bit of eggs and bacon, but Gellert whisked the plates away anyway, and Credence looked guilty, but went with him when he held his hand out for the boy. They dressed for the cold, and again Gellert shifted into Graves before leaving the flat. Credence’s gaze lingered on him a little longer this time. Having gone for a while now without having seen him like this, the boy must have been getting used to it. When he glanced into Credence’s thoughts, he found him focusing on the different features, contrasting the two curiously, but fortunately, Credence didn’t show any signs of disliking either. Gellert would have to concede it would have been a blow to his ego had Credence secretly preferred Graves’ face over his own, but at most, Credence had decided Graves often looked warmer than Gellert did, with his brown eyes and softer smile, but Gellert was not any less attractive. Or welcoming, apparently. Credence was thinking a lot about being wrapped up in his arms as they apparated into an alley near the edge of town and stepped out into the cold. So Gellert pulled the boy into his side and kept an arm firmly over his shoulders as they walked. He let the disillusionment charm slip over them as soon as they were out of sight and then headed down the long road past the anti-apparition zones. 

The trek to Kromlau park wasn’t as long this time, not from Credence’s perspective at least. Gellert knew the boy had been worried the first time he’d brought him there, and that probably made quite a difference. He managed to apparate them a little closer this time now that the memory was so fresh in his mind. 

Credence followed readily down to the boat, Gellert was pleased to see, and hopped in when he drew it closer to the shore. They pushed off with Gellert’s magic guiding their way, and Credence turned to see the bridge as they approached. Its stone arch rose up over water just as clear as it had been the last time they were there, the sun shining high over it now and filtering down on them to cast an unusual haze against the stone and the leafless trees around them. It all looked nearly normal, but Gellert had been able to sense the undercurrent of the magic’s roots the moment he set foot at the pond, and now when he looked closer, he could almost see the difference shining in the very air like the crystals of fog in the atmosphere. 

Credence followed his line of sight, but didn’t seem to find what he was looking at. There was no moment of sudden understanding from the boy’s mind, but soon they were nearing the arch and Credence’s attention was drawn back to it instead. He stared straight ahead, sitting up on his knees and leaning forward with his hands against the bow of the boat, trying to stare through it into the other side before they got there. 

It gave Gellert a rather nice view of his arse. 

They passed underneath the arch without incident, and just as before, the visage of Graves washed away from Gellert’s features. Credence sat back down to take in the lush vegetation and the suddenness of the sounds of leaves and animals around them, much to Gellert’s disappointment. 

The boy’s awe for this place was infectious, although in truth Gellert could not say that he’d ever really lost his own sense of wonder at it. It was an old world, and every time he came here it felt a little like coming home. He imagined a wizard could live out the rest of his days here and still think it paradise, but for the lack of other people. 

Credence looked over the edge of their little boat at his reflection below, perhaps wondering if he would see his former self. When he saw only what had been in front of him for the past several days, he touched his face. Then, curiously, he reached down to the water, but stopped before his fingers brushed its surface and looked back up to Gellert. “Is it okay if I touch it?”

Gellert just grinned and laughed. “Go on. It’s fine.” 

Credence dipped his hand in the water and watched as, much like the boat, his hand created a little wake behind it. He moved his fingers to widen the wake and then lifted up a bit to create four little trails with his fingers. “I’ve never seen water this clear.” Credence dipped his hand down as far as he could make it go and then brought his arm up, soaking wet and wringing it out with a smile on his face. Gellert caught him thinking of a wet dog shaking itself dry and couldn’t help a small chuckle. It was a miracle how light and innocent Credence’s thoughts could be when he felt free enough to allow them to be so. There were times when he seemed very much like the child he now looked. 

Gellert drew the boat up onto the little shore and helped Credence over the side. Just like before, his will turned the water solid for them to step down upon and avoid getting wet. Once they were on the sand, Credence looked up at him, wondering whether it was ok to ask what they came there for. 

Gellert just put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and drew him to the path. “Let’s find somewhere you can practise that spell first, shall we?” 

Credence nodded and went along with him until they found the clearing where he’d learned to cut grass. Gellert produced another feather out of thin air for him, but then called an apple from a nearby tree and a stone from the forest and set them each beside one another, only a metre apart. 

Credence was a little worried at first, especially because of how poorly he’d done back at the flat, but once Gellert explained again that it would be easier here, he was willing to accept the challenge. 

Under Gellert’s instruction, Credence managed to lift the feather successfully on the second try. It flew up high into the air and he even managed to change its trajectory where he liked on the way back down. Gellert suspected the only reason he didn’t get it on the very first try was because he was too nervous. 

When Credence was getting comfortable with the feather, Gellert laid his hands over his shoulders and caught his attention. “I want you to practise while I go looking for our missing item. Will you be okay here on your own?”

He felt the worry return in Credence’s mind as the boy looked up to him. Every time Credence’s eyes got that wide and his brows furrowed just a little like they were then, Gellert knew at a glance what he was thinking, legilimency or no. Credence had thought he’d be going with to look for whatever Gellert had in mind. “Will you be gone long?” 

“An hour at most,” Gellert assured him. “I’m sorry to leave you here, but I’m afraid this is something I should take care of myself while you’re still getting used to the magic in this place. There are old spells where I’ll be going, and I don’t want you to be frightened or harmed.”

Credence was startled at that. He didn’t think of this place as being capable of hurting him, not when everything he’d seen so far was the very picture of paradise. “What’s dangerous here?” he asked, thinking of the animal sounds he’d heard in the forest, just birds and insects, but assuming that if there were a few animals, then there might be more. 

Gellert ran a thumb along his cheek to reassure him. “Nothing but old wards meant to keep outsiders away from very specific locations. You have no need to worry so long as you don’t follow me, understood?” He lowered his head and met Credence’s eyes, wanting the boy to say it to him and mean it. 

Credence searched his face, but nodded. “Understood.” 

When Gellert pulled him in for a hug, Credence sank into it without resistance. The boy was desperate for physical reassurance just as much, if not more, than verbal, and Gellert was careful to remember that. Fortunately, he rather liked providing Credence with such physical affection. 

Credence didn’t let go until Gellert pulled back and held the boy in place with a steady grip to his shoulders. “There’s my good boy.” Gellert stroked his hair before letting Credence go. 

That was enough to keep Credence from following as Gellert made for the path again, but he knew Credence was watching carefully in which direction he went. The boy would listen for his footsteps and the snap of branches underfoot as long as he could, and Gellert hoped that he really would stay put as he’d agreed. He did not want to have to go searching for Credence in this land. It was vaster than it looked, and there were many places Credence could slip into and never be seen again. 

Gellert kept track of the boy’s mind for as long as he could, just as Credence kept track of the noise he made, but it wasn’t long before he was out of range and Gellert turned his focus to the task at hand. The path he walked soon widened into an overgrown road. It passed through a meadow and back into the forest again, and more than once Gellert had to consult a distant memory when presented with a fork in the road. 

Eventually though, he glimpsed the tall spires of his destination peeking through the treetops from the vantage point of a rolling hill. Apparition wouldn’t do here, not even when he remembered his stop clearly enough. The wards may have been old, but they still held strong, and he’d needed to walk a good while with the determination of reaching his destination before it would allow itself to appear before him. 

When it finally did, his road in the forest opened up around a river, and across it stood the remnants of the castle he sought. Only half its towers still stood, and moss and vine now covered the majority of its outer walls, but he knew it to be more than centuries old and decided it looked quite well for such an age. The old magic kept decay away as best it could, but time was still perhaps the greatest force in the physical world Gellert knew of. 

Well used to being the thief in the night, he slipped through a side door of the castle, its wood long since rotted away and only the iron mouldings were left behind on the stone floor, cluttering the entryway. The magic welcomed him, just as it had done the first time he’d visited. A thief he may be, but the land’s true owners were long gone and Gellert’s will was strong. It all but invited him in to explore its long forgotten rooms, overgrown with the creeping greenery of the forest. Gellert had spent days in its library alone many years ago, finding half its tomes had survived the rot and mildew with particularly robust archival spells. He passed the room with fondness of memory and took more than one flight of stairs in search of the path to one of the towers. 

There had been a study, or an observation room, perhaps, he remembered up there, filled with trinkets and artefacts long lost to wizardkind, and a pensieve he would have killed to find any remaining memories within. It was not to be, however, no matter how long he’d spent trying to draw its secrets forth. 

When Gellert found the room, it was much as he’d remembered it—nestled away in the top of one of the towers with long, open windows providing an enviable view to the land below. Its rusted trinkets had not been moved from their positions since Gellert had last seen them, and they never were. Besides them, all that remained of the room were a few tatters of what must have once been a thickly woven rug and a scattered few pieces of metal that had once been the legs of a chair. 

The pensieve stood dead centre of the room, its stone basin still free of the vines that permeated every other nook in the castle. Gellert had wondered whether that was happenstance or the old magic. Sometimes it was difficult to tell. He ran his hand along it as he walked the room, eyes scanning for the artifact he came in search of. It had been too long and he’d thought it too unimportant at the time to take with, not when so many other baubles and books were vying for his attention and the space in his pockets, even with extension charms. It had seemed only a neat little thing that might have had a use in a very particular scenario, one he hadn’t imagined encountering too often, but now he could not recall precisely where he’d found it, nor did he know exactly what to call it. A simple accio wouldn’t do, not when the trinket likely had had a name of its own in a time long forgotten. He did not want to insult it, after all. 

So Gellert began the search, sorting through shelves of magical relics one by one, inspecting trunks and behind stacks of books, and ignoring the draw of interest in a great many as he passed. It wasn’t until he was halfway around the room that he opened a case of ivory paint brushes, now missing the ends, and sealed oils that he found it at last. Long and thick and intricately carved, it laid next to the ivory tools just as white, but Gellert knew the similarity was deceiving. 

Gently, he lifted the pipe from its resting place and brought it into the light. Bone was no lighter and no less polished, but there was a quality to it that ivory could not match, a quality that Gellert felt when he wrapped his fingers around it and enjoyed the weight of it in his hand. He positioned his fingers over the keys, cutting off the air inside the hollow centre and then opening it back up again with a flourish of his hands on a whim. 

He had not put his lips to it in many years, and had only discovered what it could do when he’d gone to the window and found that the birds had flown from the trees en masse to the sound of its tune. He could call them forward or drive them back with little melodies as he liked, and he’d been enchanted with the trick at the time. He went to the window now and put it to his lips, blowing only enough to put air through the pipe, but not to make a sound, as he remembered the delight of that moment. 

He had not imagined using it on anything but wayward magical creatures at the time, and although that might have had its uses occasionally, it was not the kind of leverage he would need often. He had put it in the back of his mind for a long time, until Credence came along. 

Carefully, he inspected it for hidden runes or any other sort of spell-work laced into its intricately carved surface. The last thing he wanted to do was unknowingly bind himself to it in some way, but after a thorough examination he found nothing of the sort. It appeared only to do what he’d discovered it could do, and so Gellert wrapped it up in a handkerchief and stowed it away in his pocket. With one last look around the room, he was off again, headed back down the winding steps of the castle and offering it a quiet thanks as he left its front gate. He thought it might appreciate the gesture and be glad to see him when he returned the next time. 

Gellert headed back the long way. He’d been away for around an hour’s time already, but there was one stop he still had to make before returning to Credence, and he did not want the boy to hear the crack of apparition and go searching for him. He hoped the boy had made good use of his time with the new spell, or would at least be able to entertain himself until Gellert returned. 

When the long road forked into the little path, Gellert took it, but not all the way back to the clearing. Instead, he walked until he found the nearby pond, this time covering his tracks in only a thin veil of hanging ivy. It would seclude him well enough if the boy did go searching. 

He made sure the pipe was secure before stepping out onto one of the large rocks at its edge and kneeling down to the surface. Before reaching out for the water, he caught his own reflection. The face that stared back at him was expressionless, practical, and yet the corners of his mouth still alluded to a smile that wasn’t there. He looked harder than when he had in his youth, he knew, but there was still a softness at the edges of his features. Credence had it, too, although in a completely different manner. Credence’s boyishness, even when he’d been a man, was downtrodden, yet hopeful. There always seemed to be a tiny spark of yearning in him, no matter how wretched the boy felt. Gellert’s boyishness was all charm. Seductive, in a way. 

He did not particularly want to think on it just then, however, so he waved his hand over the water and drew it up into the viewing portal, casting away his reflection for a bird’s eye view of the world instead. He made his way back to New York, checking in on the few officers he’d left in the region and their growing number of followers. Then he searched out President Picquery. She had well and truly lost his trail it seemed, judging from the notes laid open in her office, and he saw no signs throughout MACUSA that they suspected any of his followers, although he did not think they were foolish enough to believe he hadn’t been recruiting there. MACUSA would be on the lookout for some time to come. 

It seemed Graves felt the same. When Gellert checked in on the Central Park apartment where he’d last found the man, he discovered a mess of newspapers and lists of notes strewn over the table, half of which was taken up by a map of the city with little pins hovering over it in clusters at various points. It appeared Graves had gotten his wand back, then. Gellert’s mouth twitched. He was happy for the man not to have to endure more undue bureaucracy from MACUSA on that front at the very least. It coupled with vague amusement at the thought that he should be happy for Percival at all. It looked like the man was attempting to hunt him down with or without the help of the authorities he still worked for, but far from being an annoyance, Gellert had to admit it tickled his pride. 

Graves was in the middle of writing notes and comparing them to others he’d already laid out on the table. With a closer inspection, Gellert saw that they were taken from what must have been informal interviews of various names he recognised, all people who’d had connections to dealings in the dark arts in New York and the surrounding areas, and one or two smugglers and the owner of a speakeasy thrown in. Graves was rubbing his temple and turning back to the fireplace to make another call when Gellert heard the crunch of dirt and branches behind him. He became aware of the curious mind behind the noise a moment later, and whirled to find two wide eyes and a tuft of dark hair peeking through the vines back at the path. The boy shrank back immediately, ducking beneath more vines, but they both knew he’d been seen. 

Gellert scowled. Credence couldn’t have been there for long or he would have noticed he was being watched, but he’d been distracted when the boy crept up. “What did I tell you about following me, Credence?” he asked over his shoulder. He could wave away the image of Graves in the water, but hiding it was pointless now. 

Immediately, he felt a pang of fear cut through the air between them. The boy’s emotions were so clear he was amazed Credence had been able to get this close at all. 

Credence took a deep breath before opening his mouth, and Gellert could hear the indecision in his mind whether he should stay, knowing he was in trouble, or flee back to the clearing. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to follow. But you’ve been gone for longer than an hour, surely, and I—I was worried. I just wanted to find you. I thought if I could just….” 

Gellert turned when Credence trailed off. There was another indecision in the boy’s mind now, even though he had stepped underneath the vines so that Gellert could see him while speaking. Gellert raised a brow, giving Credence tacit permission to continue. _How_ the boy found him was another question altogether. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Credence admitted. “I tried to follow the path and thought that maybe you would be coming back and I’d meet you, and you wouldn’t be angry because I hadn’t gone very far, but I didn’t think I’d find you there. And then I got worried. I just thought I should go this way instead. I don’t know why.” 

Gellert could hear what the boy wasn’t saying. How lonely he’d been, how he’d managed to make each of the objects Gellert had left for him fly at least a little bit and soon boredom set in. Boredom turned to loneliness and loneliness to fear, and Credence had decided to go against his wishes to assuage that feeling. And somehow, he had managed to set himself on the path directly to Gellert’s position without even the slightest bit of a reason. 

Gellert held out a hand, beckoning Credence closer. He knew he still didn’t look very pleased about this turn of events, nor was he, but this was also quite interesting. The only way the boy could have done it was with magic. 

Cautiously, Credence stepped closer until he reached the edge of the flat rock where Gellert stood. He hesitated, and it took a sigh and another wave of Gellert’s hand to get him to climb up. Of course, his eyes immediately went to the image of Graves conversing with a fiery head in his fireplace before they snapped back to Gellert. So Gellert let the silence hang as he, too, turned back to the image. 

“Is that the real Mr. Graves?” Credence asked, unable to restrain the question any longer. 

“It is.” Gellert observed the muted conversation between the two figures, or figure and head, arguing in the New York living room. “He’s quite angry with me, you can imagine, and he’s trying to find me now.” 

Credence looked up, catching the hint of resigned amusement in Gellert’s tone. It confused Credence. “Is he going to come after you?” That question sent a whole horde of thoughts racing through the boy’s mind, and Gellert was pleased to note that a certain amount of worry was interspersed in the jumble of it all. 

He raised an eyebrow and glanced back. “Would you like him to?” The uncertainty of Credence’s thoughts only intensified, and the boy nearly flushed. Gellert’s mouth turned up in a half smirk. “There’s no reason to be ashamed. I did find him worthy of impersonating, after all.” Gellert laid his hand over Credence’s back, soothing the boy’s worry as much as he could with a touch. Credence already felt like he was doing something wrong, just thinking about the real Graves showing up. 

“Is he dangerous?” the boy asked instead, choosing pragmatism over his own guilty thoughts. 

Gellert looked back to the man pacing his living room, hand to his temple and scowl upon his face, now flat out arguing with the talking head, and considered. “He could be, if given the right opportunity. I’ve never given him that opportunity, however, nor do I intend to in the future.” 

With eyes still locked on the image, Credence leaned into Gellert’s side, his mind clouded with memories of a Graves who was not this Graves, but Gellert all the while, and Credence felt like he needed comfort again. It was difficult for Gellert to stay angry with him, or even annoyed, when he was like this, and Gellert was an expert at being annoyed with other people. Even Credence hadn’t escaped his annoyance when Gellert hadn’t known he was the obscurial. But there was something about the way the boy wanted him, needed him. Sometimes. 

Graves finally ended the call and threw down his notes on the table, having written nothing. “Another dead end,” Gellert commented and Credence nodded in understanding. Graves placed his hands on the table and leaned against it with a sigh. 

Gellert stroked Credence’s hair as they watched the man, an idea taking shape in his mind. One that may just align with the work he’d begun in Europe already. If left to his own devices, Graves’ search may very well stumble upon the contacts Gellert had collected in the States, and he could not have that, but he might have other uses for the man yet. 

He squeezed Credence’s shoulder before letting the image go, dissolving back into droplets of water and falling away to the pond below. 

“Why were you watching him?” Credence asked and Gellert knew he was hoping the question wasn’t out of line. 

Gellert sighed. “I’m watching all of MACUSA when I can. It’s best to know what those who wish to see me taken out are up to.” He did not mention that he only had such a thorough reach with the waters in this land. If he’d wanted to spy on MACUSA back in their world, he’d need to plant mirrors directly, and they’d swept the place from top to bottom once he’d been discovered. 

Credence nodded, but Gellert could feel his thoughts lingering on the man they’d seen in the mirror, so he wrapped an arm around the boy as they stepped down off the rock and pulled him close, effectively taking his mind off it. “What do you say we head back and you can show me what you can do, hm?” 

Credence’s face lit up even though it was still the boy’s natural instinct to suppress such open forms of excitement. “Okay. I can do it much better here, even without a wand.” Credence was giving off a strong impression he preferred it that way, and it was no wonder why. 

Gellert would have to insist that he practise with the wand again when they returned, and to learn to be patient with it. It would not do to have the boy growing to dislike it so much that the tentative bond the wand created with him was rejected. But for now he let the boy enjoy his moment of triumph as they made their way back to the clearing. Credence needed these little successes in order to push past his failures, and apparently, he might even surprise Gellert with his magic here once in a while, too.

* * *

Percival was not getting anywhere with his one-man investigation. He had to concede that. It had been days now and what he had managed to find had already been confirmed by MACUSA or, he discovered, was already being looked into by MACUSA. Once one of the informants from Grindelwald’s file mentioned he’d gotten a call from Graves in a subsequent call with the auror department, Percival got an earful from Picquery not half an hour later. He didn’t even attempt to deny it. Beyond extending his leave or outright threatening his job, there wasn’t much she could do. She could revoke his wand again, but…well, no, she might actually do that, now that he thought about it, with him still being under review and all. 

The newspapers told him nothing except that Grindelwald was nowhere to be found, but his sympathisers were getting more vocal. Percival read paper after paper, going from his desk to the couch, to sprawling atop it as the pile grew around him, searching for any detail he could find. He created a list of names writing into the papers in support of Grindelwald’s position or alluding to as much, but he didn’t have the time to follow up on every one of them himself unless one stood out in particular. Most didn’t. Not when news of the destruction of the Second Salem Philanthropic Society hit the no-maj newspapers and sent a good portion of the superstitious and religious communities among them into fits. The same thing was apparently happening across the Atlantic, Percival read, and with an anti-wizard uproar spreading among the no-majs, disquiet was equally sparked in the wizarding population. He’d been going days like this with no word from MACUSA on his investigation except to reprimand him for attempting to work while on official leave. 

Then one morning, when he hadn’t quite made it to his bed the night before, he found himself being rudely awoken on the couch by an owl nipping at his socks. He blinked, and then winced when it got the meat of his toe. The owl just flapped its wings and lifted its letter while he pulled his feet back and nearly fell off the couch. Grudgingly, he untied it from the bird and then shooed it on its way. He wasn’t about to thank it for that sort of awakening. 

The owl let out a displeased noise and hopped back to the windowsill, sending his notes and maps flying every which way as it passed the table. He shouted at the bird, but was too tired to get up and give it a proper scare. Besides, it was gone before he’d have been able to reach his wand anyway, so he flopped back down and turned the letter over, finding the gold stamp of MACUSA on its front. 

He sat up again, unable to prevent the lurch of hope that the investigation was over, and tore away the seal. What he found inside was not exactly what he’d hoped for, although it was indeed a letter from Picquery, herself. 

_Dear Mr. Graves,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_Before I continue, know that investigations concerning your captivity and impersonation during the time Grindelwald infiltrated our organisation are still underway. I am, however, writing to you concerning another matter. I am aware you have been restless during your time waiting for these investigations to be completed and very eager to get back to work. I am eager for such an eventuality as well, but with that being out of the scope of availability for the time being, I believe I have found a way for you to put your restlessness to good use._

_I have, this morning, received a letter from the French Ministry of Magic inviting a delegate from MACUSA to speak on the events surrounding Grindelwald’s infiltration and the no-maj backlash against the destruction of the Second Salem Society. They are holding a conference in Paris and have invited the British, Swiss, and Italian Ministries of Magic to speak as well. This is, essentially, a press conference in solidarity with the European magical governments. We need to show our strength. We need to reassure the global magical community that we have not been compromised beyond repair. We need someone to provide reassurance in a time of uncertainty, and I believe, Percival, that person would best be you. You survived capture. With the right engagement, and with a strong presence I know you can put forth, you can convey to this conference that Grindelwald can be beaten and that the no-maj hysteria can be contained, as it was done in New York._

_I know this is asking a great deal of you. It will put you in a position to be visible when you may not wish to be, but I believe it is an opportunity. If you agree to speak, you will be accompanied by security there and back. I am not taking any chances in that. Above all, I can at least say you will no longer be bored._

_I await to hear your decision._

_Sincerely,_

_President Seraphina Picquery_

Graves set the letter down on the coffee table, still open, and stewed in thought. Picquery must have really wanted him out of her hair. That was the first thing that came to mind. From where he was sitting, it was hard to see how she would entrust him to speak in front of as many European ministries as they got together in one room when she was already fed up with him trying to search for any loose ends Grindelwald left behind on his own. He did not think he inspired much confidence in anyone at the moment, and particularly not Picquery. But perhaps this was her way of pushing him back into the right position, or at least the image she wanted. He rubbed a hand over his face and scowled. She didn’t even know whether this investigation of theirs would determine him ‘unfit’ to continue on as director. He knew he was innocent of wrongdoing, but these things were often ultimately up to how much confidence the President and her cabinet had in him. Although he suspected that if they did decide to demote him after he’d gone to Europe and performed this little song and dance, they would spin it as his own decision. Percival had seen to enough of those situations himself over the years. If one didn’t want a scandal, one went quietly. 

He still did not want to think about what he’d do if he lost his position. He’d be out entirely. Going from Director of Magical Security to something like Wand Permits was laughably out of the question. 

His gaze drew back to the letter and he chewed his lip. If he did go to the conference…. He would be meeting with officials from several European ministries, formally as well as informally since he did not doubt there would be a lot of drinks and dinner parties outside of the conference. Diplomats were better at schmoozing than they were at speaking to the public, honestly. Percival despised it, but he could work a room if he really wanted to, and right now he might actually have the incentive. Paris was next door to Grindelwald’s territory. 

Switzerland still tried to deny he’d had a stronghold there, although they did admit he’d been attempting to recruit in the region. It was kind of difficult to keep that hushed when there were anti-no-maj demonstrations in the streets of wizarding towns every few weeks, even though their numbers were still small and they scattered easily. Grindelwald may have kept a fanatical following, but the trouble was that his sentiments were gaining traction with the common people. Elder witches and wizards had begun talking about his ambitions at dinner parties. 

Once the Swiss authorities got wind that he might have been there in person, he was gone just as quickly—he had a knack for that—and no one was quite sure whether he’d moved his operations to Italy or Austria, or even Germany. After listening to him work for three months, Percival suspected he had “strongholds” in nearly every European country he had ever set foot in, which was a lot. And now that may even include America. Grindelwald had never denied it when Percival asked him, but he never outright admitted anything either. 

MACUSA was willing to send him to Paris. Percival wondered at the odds of Grindelwald taking up temporary residence in France. Unlikely, he thought. In spite of the general opinion of the public and his colleagues, he hadn’t quite ruled out Germany though. Grindelwald had a flair for the dramatic, but most people took one look at the ferocity of his attacks and the philosophy he proposed and engendered in his followers, and decided he would hate the thriving culture of arts and academia. Percival now knew better. Grindelwald was no prude, and he was very intelligent. 

It really wasn’t a decision at all. He would go, and Picquery probably even knew that he would ask around where he could about Grindelwald’s movements, but she probably didn’t think he was daring enough to go looking outside of the city’s safety. Or stupid enough. Grindelwald had never planned to kill him when he was using Percival’s identity in New York. He didn’t need to, not when he was in control of everything Percival heard and saw, but there would be nothing holding him or his followers back if Percival went digging in Europe. 

Nevertheless, Percival reached for a loose sheet of parchment and a quill to send his response. He wondered if Picquery would even be surprised she didn’t have to convince him. Probably not.

* * *

Less than a week later saw Percival and his small entourage of security, or whom he liked to think of as ‘henchmen’ in private, crossing the Atlantic via internationally sanctioned portkey and arriving in the magical port of transportation, a richly modern building on the outskirts of Paris, that was hidden in the facade of a no-maj train station. Not like the subways of New York, but real steam engines. 

It was midday when they arrived although it had been morning when they left, and at first glance to the grey skies and muddy street, Percival had to say it wasn’t too different from New York. The skyline, however, could not have been further from it. He’d never been to Paris before, and hadn’t been to Europe in some time, but as they collected their luggage and took a no-maj cab through the city, his first impression was that it seemed even older than London. Or perhaps simply more embellished. It was the dead of winter and people still kept pots of wilted flowers and vines hanging in their windows. The streets wound every which way so many times that even he would have had trouble retracing their route, but eventually the cab took them all the way down to the Seine and past a very stately garden before they reached the Louvre Museum. 

“Straight in through the front doors,” Montague, the senior in both rank and age of Percival’s three escorts, informed them. They’d shrunk their luggage so as not to look too out of place among the no-maj crowds. 

Percival didn’t wait to be led, and the others, Evans and Willoughby, had to stop inspecting their surroundings and catch up quickly. Percival had worked with Montague before. The man knew him as well as any of the senior aurors did, and he was glad at least to have one man he was comfortable with, more or less, during their stay. Evans and Willoughby, however, he would not have chosen. Sam Willoughby, a redheaded kid with moderate talent for working his way into the good graces of all things shady in the wider areas of New York, had only three real years’ experience among the aurors, and Henrietta Evans was experienced enough, but she was a stickler for thoroughness in a way that even Percival disliked. He suspected it was more a case of too many cooks in the kitchen whenever he had to work with her because when she was overseeing her own duties, far away from him, he appreciated her being a stickler for the details much more. 

Either way, he hoped to keep all of them out of his hair as much as possible. 

“I still think taking up accommodations with the embassy would be more thorough.” Evans slipped into step with him, her sharp eyes straight ahead, expression difficult to read with her hat down low over her brows and her mouth in a thin, straight line. 

“The embassy’s already cleared the French Ministry’s choice. It would be an insult to rebuff them now, and not to mention it would go against every reason we’re here in the first place if word got out I was too paranoid to accept the same rooms they’re giving all the delegates.” Percival did his very best not to sound irritated, but the sooner they could notify the Ministry of their arrival and get settled, the sooner he was going to be happy again. Relatively speaking. 

Evans’ mouth thinned to almost nothing, and Percival picked up his step. They cleared the doors, passing no-majs and wizards alike, and picked up their tickets at the booths awaiting them. Montague, the only one of them who’d visited the French Ministry of Magic before, led the way. They’d been informed to perform a simple charm on the ticket machines to receive them, and, once they were allowed inside with the unsuspecting no-maj visitors, headed down the hall towards Egyptian Antiquities. Montague nodded to a statue of a giant sphinx set into the middle of the room. It was neither up on a pedestal nor lowered into the ground. The few tourist families and children who’d entered with them had no reservations about running their hands along its flanks as they explored. 

Percival and the three wizards pretended to inspect various other statues and vases around the room until the children and their families left, and then Montague stepped between the two large paws of the creature and walked straight through its chest. So that was that, then. Percival, Evans, and Willoughby followed. 

The floor they stepped onto was just as vast as the Louvre’s regular interior, and coloured in creamy marble floors and arching walls. They all took a moment to take it in and gather their bearings, for in spite of being technically underneath the Louvre itself, the lobby of the Ministry was vast and lit with a warm glow overhead, laid into the ceiling as though one were looking up through particularly bright clouds. Percival found it strangely cheerier than the no-maj side of the building. 

He wasted no time in getting them checked in for the conference the following day. Their passports were inspected once more and each of his three aurors were cleared as well. One of the conference’s coordinators came to greet him in person while the clerks were explaining accommodations to his security team, and he accepted her invitation to one of those informal dinners he was hoping to get around to afterwards, as well as a programme for the evening. 

He’d been hoping to start meeting people that very night if he could, but unless Montague and Evans unexpectedly let him out of their sight, he suspected he wouldn’t get much of a chance, not for anything other than a brief introduction and an invitation to talk later. 

He thanked the coordinator and picked up a spelled map of the city Willoughby gathered for them all, providing directions to their hotel for the night, and just as soon as they’d arrived, they were on their way again. 

Fortunately, their hotel was not far. Much closer than the American embassy, he noted, somewhat pettily, but didn’t mention it to Evans when they arrived and settled into their rooms. After that, he spent what was left of the day more or less trying to avoid the other three. They had dinner at a restaurant recommended to them down the street, set up in the back of a no-maj pottery shop, but not even the taste of Parisian cooking could dampen Percival’s anticipation for the day to follow. 

Just as he’d expected, he did not escape the hovering presence of his security, nor did he run into anyone who might be attending the conference at their hotel, even when he begged off to get some fresh air and a cup of coffee down in the lobby for several hours. 

He ended up in bed with his mind racing as unstoppable as ever. He stayed awake so long that night that not once, but twice did he consider slipping out his window since his room was surrounded on every side by the others’ to make better use of his time. 

When sleep did find him at last, it was both a blessing and a curse. Or at least the dreams that came with it were. 

Percival was lying in bed again, a fog in his mind, but he was completely relaxed. He knew this was rare, that he did not often feel such a sense of having nothing waiting on him, not even when the next day arrived. He’d always been good at relaxing in the moment, leaving work at work when he came home, keeping that separate, but he never could quite shake the sense that he would have to get back to it all again tomorrow, that his quiet respites at night were only just that. This, however, was almost strange in its unfamiliarity—complete and total lack of distraction. 

He was in his own bed. The lights were out, or perhaps there were no lights at all. He didn’t remember, which was only a little funny if he thought about it, but the heavy shades were drawn and that made up for the discrepancy, if there was one. Those shades were always drawn lately. Spelled that way. But for the time being, Percival didn’t have any particular desire to open them. He stretched out along his bed, letting his toes reach as far as they could, his back arching slightly, until he sank down into the comfort of the mattress, familiar and pleasing. His blankets were strewn half atop him and half off, but the room wasn’t cold and he wasn’t bothered. The embrace of the cushion under him was comfort enough. This was all for him, finally. A day of rest and indulgence. 

He could go back to sleep if he wanted to. He wasn’t exhausted anymore, but neither did he feel the need to get up and be productive. He stretched his legs out and ran a hand idly down his stomach to his inner thigh, thinking about the picture he must make letting them fall open like that. There was very little that was soft about him, but he knew he could look very inviting when he wanted to. Sometimes even when he didn’t particularly want to, but for the moment he didn’t mind. Not even when a figure moved into the doorway, lit from the light behind and looking more like a shadow than a man. 

Percival didn’t look at him right away, although he did turn his head. His eyelids were still heavy, but Grindelwald’s outline was unmistakable. The man’s hand drew down the door frame as he pushed away from it. His body moved in fluid steps towards Percival’s bed, one, and then the next, and then the next after that. It was a slow, deliberate motion, and Percival had plenty of time to turn away. If he wanted to. But he didn’t, not particularly. He left his hand where it was on his inner thigh, still bare from the night before although he could not remember what he’d been doing. He didn’t think he’d been with Grindelwald, although for some reason now the idea wasn’t putting him off, not when the man sat down at the edge of Percy’s bed and ran his eyes from the tangle of sheets at Percival’s feet up to the heaviness growing at his groin, and then farther up still to meet Percival’s eyes. 

Grindelwald’s mouth was curved, but Percival couldn’t tell if he was really smiling or if that was just the way he looked. Especially when he was interested in something. 

Finally, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and lifted himself up onto an elbow, thinking maybe he should meet the man on a slightly more even level, but Grindelwald didn’t let him get far. He leaned in over Percival with one hand at the headboard and the other catching against the side of the bed to keep himself anchored, and drew so near that Percival thought he was about to be pushed back down to the bed when they met, but the impact of a kiss never came. Grindelwald stopped just above Percival’s mouth. 

The man didn’t say anything. He just let their lips brush, and Percival was caught straining to keep himself balanced under the man hovering above him. He caught Grindelwald’s smile then, a real one, curving the corner of his mouth. Grindelwald enjoyed this little power play, but Percival had had enough. He reached up and grabbed the back of the man’s collar and brought him down, pulling as much with his weight as with his arm, tight against Grindelwald’s back, while he sank into the bed. 

Their kiss was more of a clash. Grindelwald laughed into it. Apparently being manhandled delighted him. That was a surprise for Percival since Grindelwald was always the one pushing him into very uncomfortable positions, but it was kind of a pleasant one. 

Grindelwald grinned against Percival’s mouth and caught his wrist just as Percival was trying to grab for the man’s other one, and he found himself laughing in return when the soft rumbling sound of it came from the other man. 

The kiss turned languid once he knew he wasn’t about to be held down for real, that Grindelwald enjoyed playing with him, and the man lifted himself up onto the bed. One of his knees found its way between Percival’s and Grindelwald hummed, satisfied. 

Grindelwald was entirely too clothed, Percival thought in a haze. The man had been teasing him for weeks now, or had they already coupled together? He couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter in the moment. Grindelwald should have known to get rid of all this before it became a nuisance. Percival grabbed at the man’s shirt and pulled it free of his trousers, and then he had to deal with the waistcoat while Grindelwald laughed into his ear. His head was filled with that laughter, soft and indulgent, like this was a private joke the man shared only with Percival. Or perhaps just himself. 

Percival was just about ready to give up and tear the clothing off Grindelwald’s back when suddenly it was gone. His hands met bare skin, warm and shifting with lean muscle underneath, and finally, Percival could relax again. 

Grindelwald nuzzled at the corner of his mouth when he laid himself over Percival and brought their hips together. Already there was lubrication between them, even though just like with the clothes Percival hadn’t heard a spell uttered nor seen a wave of the man’s hand. Grindelwald’s weight pressed him firmly down, but they were of a similar height and Percival didn’t feel smothered. In fact, he let himself relax, craving that feeling of utter indulgence he’d been luxuriating in before Grindelwald arrived. 

It wasn’t difficult. 

Grindelwald moved slowly, and they were both hard now. Percival let his legs fall open for the man to slide between, their lengths moving against each other before Grindelwald slipped a hand between them and wrapped it wide around them both. Percival let out a sound, but it didn’t quite reach his ears. It was something throaty, something that didn’t mean anything, but was encouraging all the same. Even if he didn’t hear himself, Grindelwald did. The man lifted up far enough to grin down at him. His hands hooked under Percival’s knees and yanked them up as he sat back. 

It flashed across Percival’s mind that he should be resisting this. He hadn’t had another man inside him since he was just out of his teens, if he even remembered right. Everything was a bit hazy just then. And this man in particular, he’d been resisting so well. But the mattress still felt so nice against his back and Grindelwald wasn’t asking for anything more than this, and Percival just wanted something for himself for once. So he lifted his hips when the man’s hands slid under them and let the man run his hand over Percival’s cock, giving him a few idle strokes before moving lower, massaging his balls, pressing his fingers gently underneath—a hint of what was about to happen, Percival knew—and then finally grazing over the ring of muscle beneath. 

Percival only felt some disquiet at the sensation of a slick liquid moving inside him. Sex magic, he knew, but he hadn’t felt that in a very long time. And then Grindelwald lined his cock up, and pushed. The blunt head felt like too much at first. It was slow and there was pain, and then Percival remembered how comfortable he should be feeling and suddenly the pain was gone. Grindelwald sank just as slowly inside him, but now it just felt _full_. The man’s hands splayed over Percival’s hips and then squeezed as he sank down to the hilt. Grindelwald exhaled through his teeth. 

It took a minute for Percival to adjust, but then he brought his heels to the man’s back and tried to get him to move. Grindelwald just chuckled, and the funny thing was that Percival knew he was smiling back, half grinning, even, and then Grindelwald obliged. In one slow motion, he eased back and thrust forward. Grindelwald moved his hips in the most fluid motion Percival had ever felt before. The first thrust drew a grunt out of Percival so unexpectedly he thought he should take the time to be embarrassed, but again, he couldn’t hear himself, no matter how high his voice had been pitched. 

He’d forgotten how good this could feel. In truth, he didn’t remember it feeling quite this good at all the first time he’d ever done it. The man’s cock was rubbing inside him just right with every thrust, even when he bent over Percival and brought their mouths together again. Percival wrapped his arms around the man’s neck to keep him down, straining to do so. If there was one thing Grindelwald liked to do with him, it was to play at fighting. Percival almost laughed. It took him a while to understand that sort of push and pull, but this…this felt wonderful. He locked his ankles around Grindelwald’s back and didn’t let the man go. 

There was a grunt in his ear and Grindelwald’s hands found their way back to his hips, holding him down and keeping him in place for the man to thrust into even as Percival tugged him forward. Their movements fought each other, but only just. Had this not felt so good, had he not realised how much the man was teasing him, and had he not been able to fight back, Grindelwald’s roughness would have been oppressive. But as it was, Percival enjoyed it. He _let_ himself enjoy it. 

The pace of Grindelwald’s hips grew faster. His hand wrapped around Percival’s cock, almost forgotten even by him, and then it really did become too much. Percival’s mind clouded over in a haze of lust, letting himself be devoured by the mouth against his own and trying for all he was worth to give back as much as he got. But he was losing time to sensation. He had no idea if seconds or minutes passed, but he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Something on the ceiling. He would never have noticed it had he not been staring back at Grindelwald, taking in the man’s face every time they parted between frenetic kisses. 

It was something dark, almost black. Percival blinked and it was still there. Then it began to move. He almost thought it was smoke at first, but he had never seen smoke that thick. A coil of anxiety twisted in his chest as the thing unfurled down the wall, moving without beginning and without end, curling in on itself and then expanding outward like a great, oily, invertebrate being, and yet Grindelwald didn’t seem to notice. It crept through the air behind him and Percival was just about to say something, just about to open his mouth and stop the man, but then Grindelwald bent down to run his tongue up Percival’s neck and thrust into him so precisely it sent a full bodied shiver down his spine and the words died in his throat. 

When Percival opened his eyes again, the great, dark creature was moulding itself into the shape of a young man. A young man he recognised from the photo back on his table in New York. A photo he hadn’t seen when he’d been held captive by Grindelwald. 

It took a minute for the shape to perfect its form fully, and in that time Percival could not quite bring himself to stop the man on top of him. The pleasure coursing through his body was too much. It was too distracting, and he didn’t want to give it up. Not yet. 

He thought for sure that the young man would look at him in disgust, but when Credence’s eyes opened and fell on the two of them, he just looked…sad. His dark head cocked slowly, taking in the way Grindelwald and Percival were rutting into each other and Percival felt his cheeks colour in a way they hadn’t for years. He hadn’t planned on anyone seeing this. Or ever even knowing about it. But here was Credence Barebone, a young man who should be dead, who _was_ dead, and dead because of the man atop him, staring at him with a face slowly crumbling into a frown. 

Grindelwald gave a particularly pointed thrust and Percival cried out. He hadn’t meant to. Not with Credence right there. He really did want to be respectful, but…it was difficult. 

Credence took a step closer, looking down at the bed first like his eyes didn’t want to reach them anymore, but then he seemed to steel himself and glanced up to where the two of them were joined together, and Percival felt his face flush even more. He felt like he was being dissected under a spotlight when he was already coming apart. He had no idea how Grindelwald didn’t notice the man beside them, but when Credence reached out and held his hand over Grindelwald’s back, as though he wanted to touch and see if they were real, but couldn’t quite bring himself to, Percival had to accept that the man couldn’t see him. 

Credence drew his hand back to himself, his shoulders hunched and his head bent, but he looked up at Percival and in his expression, Percival could only read pain. “I thought you said you were going to help me.” The voice that came out of the young man was quiet and broken. 

“I…,” Percival trailed off when Grindelwald bit the side of his neck a little harder than expected, followed by a squeeze to his cock, pain and pleasure so immediate together it threw him off. 

“Don’t look,” Grindelwald whispered in his ear and Percival bit back a whimper. 

Credence looked like he’d been slapped. “You said you were going to go after him. You said you were going to take him down, _for me_.” His face crumbled even more when they didn’t stop. Credence bent at the waist and pulled his arms around himself, staring at Percival with pleading eyes. “Please don’t lie to me. Please, don’t let him do this.” 

But Percival couldn’t stop. The pleasure inside him was building too quickly. Grindelwald was working him just right and he’d already been so close that not even Credence’s presence was going to bring him out of this desperate need for climax. Before he knew it he was coming, shooting in spurts over Grindelwald’s hand with the man panting and laughing in his ear, and the figure of Credence was fading. 

Only the sound of a faint “Mr. Graves…,” hung in the air where the young man had been a moment before. 

Percival felt Grindelwald’s hips stutter and he knew the man had come inside him. He could almost _feel_ it, Grindelwald’s cock twitching and the wetness that would soon be leaking out, just as soon as the man pulled out. But he didn’t. He bent his head against Percival’s temple and just breathed. 

Percival wondered, not for the first time, what this felt like for him. To have Percival under him, to look down at him the way the man was doing now before Grindelwald kissed him once more. He imagined it must be something of a power trip. 

That was the last thought in his mind before he awoke to a dark hotel room.


	8. Chapter 8

Percival closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see an unfamiliar ceiling again. He didn’t want to feel the unfamiliar blankets all around him, or the cold of the room, but it didn’t sit right with his gut to want to fall back into that dream either. It hadn’t even been a real memory, but it may as well have been. And then Credence….

He ran his hands over his face, trying to wake up. Light was just dawning through his window and he could hear the slow flow of traffic coming from the street below. The radiator kicked on and nearly startled him upright. Apparently, he had been more on edge than he thought he was, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dream or what was to come at the conference that night. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to bed now, he knew that much. 

He thought about at least laying down. Maybe that would be rest enough, so he did, but he couldn’t stare at the ceiling, so he turned over and stared at the night stand and desk at the opposite wall instead. When that didn’t work, he moved his attention to the wallpaper, following its gaudy flower pattern this way and that, until the pillow under his head felt too hard and the blankets too heavy and he knew he was going to get a headache if he stayed that way any longer. He threw the covers back and got up. He was going to regret this either way. 

The chill in the air was uncomfortable on his bare chest and feet, even though the carpeting was thick. He went to the radiator and turned the heat up a notch. The price tag on this hotel was high enough, if it broke down he was going to have a few unhappy words with the management office. Such an inconsequential thing to think about compared to the rest of his ambitions for this trip, but it was hard for him to let the little things go. 

He found his robe and went to shower. The hot water down his back felt like heaven. It felt like soft sheets and warm hands and the scratch of stubble over his chest that he really shouldn’t be thinking about again. The water made his head fuzzy as much as it soothed him, but his stomach still felt sick with the memory of Credence’s pleading eyes on him. He needed to wake up as much as he could. He didn’t want to think about this. He forced himself to shut the water off as soon as he finished washing, but the fuzz lingered still. Half his mind was buzzing with the dream and the other half felt numb, knowing he didn’t get enough sleep. Somewhere in the mix, he was anxious about the conference, too. Normally, he was better able to prepare his press statements, but his mind and focus had been elsewhere the past week. He’d just have to make do. 

When he was shaved and dressed again, the knot in his stomach still hadn’t quite gone away. He stepped back out of the bathroom and found that the sun had only just risen, casting orange hues through the balcony window that somehow felt more cold than warm in spite of their tint. Percival’s hands shook when he went to make himself a cup of coffee where a tray of ground beans and cups and an empty pot was helpfully left for guests. All it required was a quick spell for hot water and in no time at all, he had half a steaming pot. He resigned himself to the knowledge that the anxiousness and uncertainty probably wasn’t going to leave him any time soon, so once he had a cup in hand, he went to the balcony and looked down to the street below, trying to calm his thoughts as much as he could. His breath and the steaming cup fogged the window somewhat, and he could feel a slight draft, but he was too distracted for it to bother him much. 

He hated being conflicted like this, and he hated his mind reminding him of it in such a painfully obvious way. There really wasn’t anything to _be_ conflicted about. He was ashamed at being attracted to Grindelwald? So what? That didn’t change anything. He was no more tempted to join the man or entertain the ideas of wizard supremacy. And he _wasn’t_ betraying the memory of a young man he’d never actually known, but somehow still felt responsible for. Grindelwald had used him, and had done so in order to take advantage of everything Percival wanted to protect—peace and order in New York, the Barebone boy and other young wizards like him…. Percival would do what he had to. 

He drank his coffee and then went to go see if the others were awake yet.

* * *

Percival spent the day going over his statement and the list of attendees while deciding who he would seek to talk to while Montague, Evans, and Willoughby passed the same list around, checked and double checked all the known entries and exits of the inner chambers of the eastern wing of the Ministry where the conference was to be held, and solidified their rotation schedule for the night. They would be following him through the room, accompanying him there and back, but they could not be at his side at every moment, nor should they be, Percival reminded them. Half the point of this appearance was depended on his security giving him enough room to stand on his own. 

When they moved to a private party later, that was another matter the four had to contend with. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for them to accompany him by cab there, conveniently supplied by the Ministry, but they would have to discreetly follow him around the room as guests mingled. Fortunately, it was slated to be a large party. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the exact guest list. All they knew was that the press was not invited and that most of the other delegates would have their own security present, if usually fewer than the three aurors Percival was bringing. 

All this made his work for the night that much harder. If he couldn’t escape, he was going to have to converse as much as he could there and then, and he wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to get anyone who knew anything to open up in that sort of setting. Half of him was already thinking of ways to disappear as briefly as he could manage while he listened to the three of them talk. 

Mostly, Percival just nodded where he needed to and shot down their plans when they went a little too far for his liking. Evans would have fought him over every detail had he not been too tired for it and capitulated to most. He’d get hell if he did end up slipping away, but by then there would be nothing they could do about it. 

When it finally came time to leave, he was as ready as he could be, dressed in one of his best suits and a greatcoat that was deliberately unlike the one Grindelwald had preferred, just in case anyone remembered photos of him at the time of his capture. His notes were tucked safely inside his pocket, and his three aurors flanked him on their way through the hotel lobby and down to the cab the French Ministry sent for them. Evans, Willoughby, and Montague had dressed down for the occasion as much as they could, not wanting to call too much attention to themselves, but Percival couldn’t help but think it was all for nought. Willoughby stood out here with his red hair and Evans looked a little too good to be a lady here on her own. Montague was perhaps the only one who could blend even if he was a little rougher around the edges than most. 

Still, Percival would do his best to ignore them, as he already was as they climbed into the cab and he went over his notes in his head again. One step at a time, he reminded himself, eager to get through the conference and be done with it. He just considered himself lucky he was not going to have an open session for questions with the press. That was a matter for the French Minister to tend to, not Percival. He would do what Picquery expected of him and be done with it. 

This time when they reached the Louvre museum, they were escorted in by a wizard who purported to only be accepting ticket holders for an exclusive gala and turning curious no-majs away. They entered not through the sphinx, but a section of the museum that had been entirely closed off until now, leading down to where the moat in its underbelly once was. 

They were not alone either. Other witches and wizards in their best robes were escorted after Percival and his aurors, and each of their programs and MACUSA IDs were checked before they were allowed to descend the final flight of stairs. 

It led them into a great hall where an audience was already gathered, mingling around their seats, and the witches and wizards of the press were running back and forth with quills hovering on sheets of parchment floating behind them, setting up heavy tripods with hooded cameras and radios in front of a stage that had been erected at the front of the room. 

Percival swept the crowd for faces he recognised, but didn’t find any. The robes of the press were easy to distinguish from the audience members, but it seemed they were taking the speakers to another room to the side to mingle before they went on stage. Among them were the only witches and wizards Percival recognised, most from the newspapers he’d read up on in the past week or so. There were only a few who he recognised without the help, the British and French delegates—both heads of national security for their respective ministries—were among them. They caught sight of him, too, and nodded his way as he joined the group. 

Percival made what small talk he could while they waited, painfully aware that any conversation he joined would be easily overheard in this crowd. Now more than ever, he just wanted to be done with it all. Giving speeches and mingling with politicians was Picquery’s forte, not his. 

It felt like ages before the crowd was seated, the cameras were poised, the microphones were recording, and the night was underway. A portly little wizard, one of the hosts from the French press, gave the welcome introduction, explaining why they had all gathered there that night to bring together officials from no less than four European countries, and the United States, in reaction to the spreading attacks by Gellert Grindelwald and the sharp rise in anti-muggle sentiments and radicalisation of his followers. The little wizard had several choice words for Grindelwald’s most recent actions, not the least of which included “criminal machinations beyond precedent and imagination”, during which the crowd gave applause, before the wizard went on building up the undercurrent of agitation and outrage in the room. 

Percival found himself scowling through it, not because he could deny any of it, but because he disliked this sort of showmanship. Riling peoples’ moral outrage unsettled him. None of these people had the slightest idea what had happened that night to the young man at the centre of Grindelwald’s machinations they were so hell bent on censuring. Perhaps what bothered Percival the most was that not even he would be able to set that detail straight when it was his turn to speak. To expose what Grindelwald had done to that young man would in turn expose what MACUSA had done to him, and though it turned Percival’s stomach, he knew this was not the time nor the place for that information to come out. The more he tried not to think of the young man, the more he couldn’t shake the look of betrayal Credence had bestowed upon him in his dream. 

Percival stood to the side and watched official after official take the stage and recount Grindelwald or his followers’ reign of attacks in their own countries followed quickly by more and more vows to destroy the man’s following and bring him to justice. The more they repeated it, the hollower it began to sound. Percival remembered Grindelwald standing at his own kitchen window, looking out at the city like he already owned it. These politicians had no idea what they were talking about. Not even their heads of security. Percival would have had no idea, himself, had he not been captured. And Picquery wanted him to go up there and inspire people. She wanted him to go up there and parrot the same words as all these people who thought that if they could just calm their citizens and inspire enough confidence, they could oust the man who was quickly becoming the most dangerously powerful wizard Percival could remember in recent, and not so recent, history. 

When it finally came his turn to speak, he did just that. He could offer no better words to this crowd than the ones given to him by Picquery’s public relations machine. Percival stood at the front of the room, microphones and quills poised for his words, the podium solid under his hands, his notes laid out in front of him, and realised he barely needed them. 

“Good evening,” he began, waited a beat, let his eyes sweep the room as though he was greeting every single person in it. “They gave me quite an introduction inviting me up here to speak, but I’m sure you all know who I am by now—Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You’ll also know that for three months, I was held prisoner by Gellert Grindelwald while he was doing his best to infiltrate MACUSA. It turned out his best was pretty good.” Percival smiled, letting the audience hang on that for a beat, setting the stage. “But in the end our best was better.” A smattering of applause ran through the audience at his comeback and Percival held up a hand, thanking them as much as quieting them. How much he hated this, as he plastered that same smile to his face, going along with the show. “It turned out Grindelwald _is_ just a man. A man who thinks he knows what’s best for our society—not American or French or British or even European, but _all_ of wizarding society—and it turns out he is a man who is _wrong_ , and who can be beaten. He has fooled a few among us into believing the flawed logic in his philosophies, and he seeks to fool more. He is, at best, a con man seeking power for himself under the guise of wizard supremacy. His actions have inspired fear in the non-wizarding communities around us, and threaten our own safety by threatening theirs. You, our people here and across the Atlantic, are calling for government intervention while his attacks spread, and we _will_ deliver. In three months, Gellert Grindelwald could not break me, and he cannot break _us_. Know that if he is out there listening to this now, he will not be for long. Thank you.” 

Percival stepped back from the podium and the crowd erupted in cheers. He gave them hollow words, but the truth, he did not think, was better. Grindelwald hadn’t _tried_ to break him, not in the way everyone thought. If he had, Percival was fairly sure he wouldn’t have survived to be giving speeches. 

He stepped down from the stage and was greeted by a few of the reporters ignoring that they’d already been told Percival wouldn’t be answering any questions. The French Minister took the stage behind him as Percival, with the help of Evans and Willoughby and the conference’s security, glided past the reporters calling for questions with quills in hand, ready to grab any statement they could. 

“Glad that’s over with,” Montague grumbled as they met him in the hall. 

“My sentiments exactly.” Percival didn’t even want to stay to watch the Minister’s speech, much less listen to him answer questions that were sure to focus on what had happened in the States, questions the press would have loved to ask Percival. 

“So are we getting out of here, then?” Willoughby asked, flanking Percival’s left shoulder as they walked. It was not an unreasonable assumption to make. 

“Off to dinner I’m afraid,” Percival said with a sigh. Montague and Evans both gave him suspicious glances. “You thought I’d duck out early?” He threw a raised brow their way. They all knew he’d been invited and that was the plan.

“With respect, sir,” Evans began, “You’re not really known for looking forward to cocktails.” He was sure she was hiding a smile, and Montague looked like he shared the sentiment. 

“Alright. I’ll level with you.” Percival knew he was going to have to do it sooner or later, and maybe they would be more open to giving him the space he would need to work through a room of people if they knew he wasn’t actively trying to escape. Yet. “There’s more than a few people at this conference I’d like to speak with in whatever amount of confidence I can manage tonight. And I’d like you to give me a little more space to work with. Believe me, if I get anything, it’ll be for a worthy cause.” 

Montague and Evans exchanged a glance, but neither rose to counter him right away. Not even Evans. Strict to the mission she may have been, but she did recognise when an opportunity was within reach. And the party _was_ on their schedule to begin with. And Percival still was the Director after all, even if he was under review and they were under strict orders to see to his safety and watch over him at the same time. It was pretty clear to them all that if Picquery trusted him enough to send him on this trip, the review was more or less a formality at this point. 

“Alright then, but you owe me a drink next time if I have to stand by on duty all night,” Montague straightened up and scowled, but Percival let him have a half-smile for going along with it. It was never any fun to work security when the drinks were flowing, especially not when mingling with politicians. 

They waited only until the conference ended and then made their way back through the Ministry, escorted by security before the crowds for the sake of convenience and not to be accosted by the reporters eager for one last chance. They were just one of many delegates making the same escape into their Ministry cars, whisked away off to the affluent but residential part of the city where the Minister was throwing the party at his own residence. 

They could at least be fairly confident of security there, Percival thought, and that would ease some of the tension on the other three. It could prove to make things difficult for him, however. He did not trust the homes of high level politicians just as he would not trust the home of a dark lord. The place was bound to be riddled with bugs. 

The drive, fortunately, was not long. There was no need to stop back at their hotel and waste any more time than necessary, and, luckily, they were not the only guests to arrive straight away. That would work to his benefit. Percival had a list of names and faces he wanted to speak with, and he knew almost everyone in the room would like to speak with him in return. He just hoped that wouldn’t get him trapped. 

Their car took them to what looked more like a small mansion than a house, and Percival had to admit he was surprised. Although maybe he shouldn’t have been. He was far too used to living in New York, and Paris didn’t have high rises. The stone entryway they were escorted into by a stiff doorman set the mood for an austere night, but the hall they entered was anything but. The outside was nothing like the white palaces of East Egg New York, for it was far more traditional and far less sprawling, but the inside…. Percival felt like he was stepping into one of the lavish soirees they put on back home. Music was already playing under bright lights and too many chandeliers. 

He was welcomed immediately by the Minister’s wife, who apparently had put all of this on, and told him that she must hear his story before the night was through. A flute of champagne was pushed into his hand and he just kept up as best he could. The woman was a whirlwind, but just as soon as she had arrived to greet him, she left to greet the next arriving guests. Montague and Willoughby both gave him sympathetic looks before the three aurors separated and spread out through the small but growing crowd. They would linger around the walls and generally make themselves as inoffensive as possible unless Percival was in trouble. And with that, he was set free to roam. 

It took some getting used to, taking in the space he had to work with. There was the front hall where most of the guests would be mingling, bracketed by the grand staircase which split in two halves winding around the sides of the room and up to the second floor and balcony above, but below the second floor the band had set up so that the music could be heard no matter where one was in the house. 

Percival took that route and found it led to the back of the house, where the gardens had been spelled to mimic summertime and the walkways led guests over and around a decorative swimming pool. It was all a bit over the top, really, but he could work with it. 

Slowly, he began to mingle with guests in earnest, approaching people politely and letting himself be approached in return. He hadn’t been wrong, there were many, many people who wanted to hear him talk about his time with Grindelwald, but he did his best to keep up the pretence of moving through the room in order to get in and out of conversations that were of no use to him as swiftly as he could. 

Montague seemed to have taken up a vantage point wherever the waiters serving hors d'oeuvres were roaming and he sent Percival a cheeky look when they passed. Willoughby and Evans were somewhat harder to spot, something he had not suspected of Willoughby and was pleasantly surprised to have been wrong. 

As the crowd thickened, Percival began looking for the faces on his list more diligently. There were at least two prominent aurors that he knew of from France and England who’d become well known in the war, in spite of both their Ministries’ official stance on the matter of wizarding involvement, and Percival knew that either of them would be good to start asking about Grindelwald’s movements in the area, both past and present. 

Unfortunately, the space in the hall began to diminish, and he realised it was going to be harder than he’d thought to find people, which also meant it would be hard to let himself be found by anyone who had anything interesting to say. 

He caught a glimpse of Evans on the staircase. She must have moved to get a better vantage point of the crowd, and he assumed the others weren’t far off either. 

He should have kept near the front where he could have watched the door. He hadn’t quite realised just how large this gathering was going to be, but if he could only find…. A coif of dark blond hair, receding at the hairline, and a lanky frame caught his eye as he turned around for another look, and Percival immediately zeroed in on the man leaning on a polished cane, speaking enthusiastically with another gentleman he did not recognise. 

Though loathe to interrupt their conversation, Percival did not want to miss this chance. “Mr. Laurent,” he called as he approached the man, holding out his hand. “I hear you’ve been keeping the Parisian aurors on their toes.” 

The French auror turned on Percival and as soon as recognition sparked in his eye, an open smile spread across his face. “Monsieur Graves. It is a pleasure to meet you. I appreciated your speech this evening, but I have to say, Grindelwald is not beaten yet.” The man raised his brows, and although he was being challenged from the moment they met, Percival appreciated the honesty. It was a relief. 

“No, he isn’t,” Graves agreed. “Far from it, in fact, and I would like to see that change as soon as possible. I’m sure you can agree.” 

Mr. Laurent inclined his head and raised a toast. “I’ll drink to that.” Percival obliged. 

The man Mr. Laurent had been talking to made a polite excuse to part, and Percival nodded his thanks. 

“Have you heard anything?” He cut right to the chase once the second man had gone, lowering his barely touched champagne flute. “Around here, that is. I can’t be certain where he’s gone, but Europe is home base for him and he’d have no reason that we know of to stay in America.”

Mr. Laurent gave him a wry smile. “An auror never rests, does he?” But he leaned a little more heavily on his cane and gave Percival his attention. “I have not seen nor heard a word about his reappearance since escaping your prison in America, but the factions of his followers within the neighbouring cities have been growing agitated. They are ready for something, I think. They are ready for his return.” 

“Have you infiltrated them?” Percival kept his voice low, but casual enough. It was an awkward place to be talking shop with the level of detail he needed, but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. 

Fortunately Mr. Laurent wasn’t new to this. He inclined his head towards the back of the room and together, they began to make their way through the crowd, leaving behind any ears that may have been trying to listen in. “We have,” Laurent said as soon as they’d moved far enough away from the bulk of the crowd. The music overlaying conversation in the background allowed them to speak at a moderate level. “So far there have only been a few true radicals we’ve had to do something about, but you know how those things go. There is a line the Ministry will not let us cross. Enforce too much and it creates more radicals than we put away, so we’ve had to be very careful about it, picking people up for lesser, unrelated infractions. We’ve only had marginal success. Grindelwald’s movement is gaining support, and now, with the muggles restless….” 

Percival nodded along. “I’ve read the same in England and in Germany. But what I’m really looking for is something that stands out.” 

Mr. Laurent gave him a sympathetic smile. “ _Everything_ within the past few weeks stands out. People are in fits that he’d nearly been caught, his dedicated followers and casual sympathisers alike.” 

Percival grimaced. He knew he’d get that response. “I heard you’d caught someone on the inside weeks back.” 

“Not one of the officers.” Laurent didn’t look happy, and to console himself he took another long drink of his wine. “But yes, a man involved as a low ranking informant, apparently. Thought he was a spy at first when we discovered he was smuggling documents out of the Ministry, but it turned out he wasn’t a very good one. We have his drop location and nothing much further than that to go on. Grindelwald’s insiders have been very careful to destroy their communications between one another. The man’s flat was empty.” Laurent gave Percival a long look, and it was easy to see the cogs in his mind turning. “Do you think he’s in France?”

Percival shook his head. “I doubt it, but I honestly couldn’t say. My best guess is that if he had been, he wouldn’t have stayed for long.” If he’d managed to return to Europe, Grindelwald might still be moving. Percival could easily imagine the man fortifying his network, not letting any doubts or dissent grow in their ranks. “But I haven’t ruled it out either. He’s got real supporters communicating with him not just in one country, and they’ve been managing to do it in secret so far.” MACUSA had not discovered any of Grindelwald’s communications while he’d been there, although, granted, they hadn’t been looking at the time, but the man was known for the stealth of his network throughout Europe as well. “What was the closest known gathering place for his supporters in relation to this guy you picked up?”

Mr. Laurent gave him another wry smile. “Playing detective outside of your jurisdiction, are you?” Percival gave a mock innocent shrug to the comment. He was gambling on Laurent’s history of going outside the policies and boundaries of the Ministry here, and it seemed his instinct was right. “They have a club in Versailles, and think themselves quite above all the rest.” Laurent gave a toss of his head that Percival supposed was the equivalent of an eye roll. “That was the closest although we have reason to believe this man contacted said club and was turned away. More than once. On inspection with a warrant, we weren’t able to gather anything from them. In the end it seemed our little spy only wanted to join the club. He may not even have had any real contacts at all.”

Percival frowned. It sounded like a dead end. A dead end that had already been investigated. But…. “No other regular gatherings for his supporters that you know of?”

“One or two here in Paris, but they’ve mostly been driven out by their unhappy neighbours.” Laurent didn’t look displeased at that news, nor did Percival suppose he would be. But that did make him wonder. 

“You don’t happen to have the address to this club in Versailles, do you?” Percival glanced around the room and then raised his brows imploringly to the other man. 

“So you _are_ going off on a little investigation of your own, now, are you?” But Laurent wasn’t censuring him. The man looked like he was suppressing a grin, delighted at Percival’s audacity. “You didn’t get this from me. And of course you know already that MACUSA has no real authority here, and so on and so forth….” He set his glass of wine down and fished inside his pocket for a pad of paper and a small quill before jotting down a note for Percival. 

“Of course.” Percival let his smile widen and tucked it away into his breast pocket. “I’m merely curious.” Laurent made an indulgent sound and plucked his wine up to take a long sip, but Percival could tell that he was happy to make the offer. People like this auror didn’t make names for themselves—off the record—during the war for playing by the rules. Evans would be furious if she suspected what he was doing. “I appreciate your gesture all the same. If you ever visit America, be sure to call on me.” Percival inclined his head. 

“I may take you up on that, soon as I can get these bastards out of my own country,” Laurent laughed. 

They parted and no more than a moment later Percival was accosted by one of the delegates from Switzerland and her husband. He kept up conversation as well as he could, but in the back of his mind he was already making plans to escape. He knew the club in Versailles was not a sure bet, and definitely not a sure bet for him with only one night to investigate, but the frustration in Laurent’s face when he talked about the situation gave Percival a measure of confidence that it was at least worth a look. If the Parisian aurors were restricted to keeping out of their business after investigating with a warrant, he had even less jurisdiction, but, well, he wasn’t even officially on active duty anymore. 

This was personal for him now, and he was willing to break a minor law to get what he could on Grindelwald. Besides, Versailles wasn’t very far. He couldn’t take out the card Laurent had given him and check the address with his own security watching, and he hoped they assumed the two had simply exchanged contact information, but he knew the city was neighbour to Paris. 

The only thing left for him to do was decide how he wanted to take care of Montague, Evans, and Willoughby. Within minutes, they would notice him missing and sound an alarm. He couldn’t very well just disappear. If he feigned a headache, they would accompany him back to the hotel. They’d been open to him sourcing for information during this social gathering, but he did not think for a moment that they could be persuaded into letting him disappear. The only other choice was to take the three with him, and he doubted he could convince Evans and Willoughby. 

That put him in a difficult position. Although he would have liked to have backup, there was no way around it. They would be leaving tomorrow and he could either stay and try to gather more information about the activities in the area from the English auror and anyone else he could find, but Percival was itching to do something more. A club would be operating whether any of Grindelwald’s followers were meeting there or not tonight, and if he managed to get in, he knew he could get names. He had aliases of his own. He just needed to be put in touch with the right people to start a correspondence…. 

As the plan began to solidify in Percival’s mind, he knew he had to take the chance. He moved to the stairs, away from the whirl of the crowd as much as possible, and searched for his three henchmen. Across the room, Willoughby met his gaze and the boy seemed to understand that Percival was reeling him in by doing nothing more than standing there and not moving. 

He was just searching for the others when two party goers stepped into his line of sight. One of them was balding at a rather young age, perhaps forty or so, and the other, of comparable age, had a full head of auburn hair, tied back in a tasteful ponytail and little golden glasses perched on his nose that glinted under the light of the chandelier. 

“Mr. Graves!” exclaimed the balding one, immediately revealing himself to be British, “My companion and I have been dying to talk to you all night.” 

The man liked gesturing with his hands, Percival noted, somewhat awkwardly as he and his companion, although both wearing pleasant enough expressions, had him essentially backed against the wall of the staircase in their enthusiasm. “Really? Well that’s…quite kind of you.” 

“You’ll have to excuse his eagerness,” the bespectacled man spoke up. “You see, I am a professor at the British school of magic, and my colleague is a political historian, expert in…,” he cocked his head and raised a brow to the man beside him, “both wizarding _and_ muggle affairs, you said?” Clearly, whoever the two were, they had only just recently met. Percival should have caught that by the note of excitement in their introduction alone, he thought. In his experience, academics often had a poor sense for tact during difficult times. On the other hand, they were probably no worse than all the other socialites who had been ‘just dying to speak to him all night’. 

“And what can I help you two gentlemen with tonight?” Percival figured acquiescing and then begging his leave as soon as he could was the better approach. They looked like they might hound him out the door if he refused to speak with them. 

The balding man shifted his stance and raised his hands like he was preparing for a lecture, and Percival wished he could have stepped back a pace or two, as he seemed to have no regard for personal space. “Well that was quite an inspiring speech you gave tonight. Really, three cheers all around, and I’m happy to see you’ve made it back safe from Grindelwald’s capture, but the thing is, I’m more interested in the details. There are few people reporting from MACUSA what happened in New York besides the official statement, and no one can remember anything else! We all know rumours are running wild with the muggles, but that all seems to stem from the destruction of the Second Salem Philanthropic Society. Nothing to do with the obscurus’ attack on the city!” The man was gesturing more and more wildly as he spoke, and Percival began to worry he thought he would lose Percival’s attention if he stopped, but he could think of no way to convince the man otherwise. Even is red haired companion leaned back and out of the way. “What I, and a lot of people, really want to know is: why didn’t MACUSA think to clean up the church with the rest of the city? Why did they leave the muggles to wonder over that? Now I’m not saying anything against you or the President, but it seems like a pretty obvious error in judgement, don’t you think?” 

Percival blinked and then shook his head. _Conspiracy theorists._ “The church was destroyed by the obscurus hours earlier. It would have been too far back to erase from the minds of everyone in the city without a higher dosage. We hoped it would have been just another one of the unexplained disturbances the no-majs were already aware of, and, quite frankly, it wasn’t as pressing an issue as the _actual_ obscurus sightings and destruction.” 

Percival knew he shouldn’t have engaged the moment the second man began speaking. “MACUSA was able to predict _that_ accurately just how much Swooping Evil venom was needed, and then to be diluted in a thundercloud and distributed down upon the city to erase only what would have been the last hour or so of activity? Really, Mr. Graves?” 

The man’s slim brow rose over one spectacle, and although he seemed much calmer than the other one, his voice carried and Percival noticed a few heads in the crowd turn their way. 

“I hate to say it,” the man went on, glancing away for a moment to collect his words, “but that all sounds rather convenient for someone who would want to both neutralise a threat and ensure the confidence of the wizarding government in the United States, while at the same time leaving behind quite a lot of evidence for the muggles to pick up on. If one were interested in causing disquiet and further aggression between our two societies.”

Percival’s eyes narrowed, and something lurched in his gut. “Are you really suggesting what I think you are?” His tone dropped. He did not want to be observed by the crowd now. What he had thought he was about to be on the receiving end of, general grievances and crackpot theories about MACUSA’s handling of the obscurus, had suddenly turned into far too personal an accusation. 

The bespectacled man’s eyes met his and held them, and for a man who thought he really might still be Grindelwald in disguise or at the very least one of his followers, Percival had to admit he did not show any fear. “I thought it prudent to ask.” The man gave a simple shrug, still as calm as ever, while the other watched on in what Percival assumed was deference to the sudden gravity between them. “For if it is not you who would gain anything to let such a slip go, then you must admit it seems likely there is someone still at MACUSA with a fair bit of power who would.” 

People had well and truly taken notice now with how strong the man’s voice was, and Percival’s collar was beginning to feel a little too tight. “If you have a claim to make against myself or MACUSA, you’re going to need more than suspicions about Swooping Evil venom to do it.” He took a step forward, unwilling to keep back against the staircase, his tone lowering even further. “You have _no_ idea what I went through over the last three months, so don’t you dare come to me and accuse me of colluding with that bastard.” 

To Percival’s surprise, and dismay, the bespectacled man did not appear chastened. He inclined his head, a sign of acceptance that Percival wasn’t quite sure how to take. His nerves were still on edge. One mention of his loyalties being called into question, of even the suggestion that he was in with Grindelwald, and he was tense for a fight, but that did not appear to be what these two men wanted. 

“I must accept your word at face value that you are not personally involved in Grindelwald’s affairs. However, we seem to be gathering a fair amount of attention. If you would like to hear my thoughts on the matter any further, and I have to say that if I were in your position, I would, then you might wish to accompany me to a slightly more private space where we may speak freely.” Blue eyes glanced to the downstairs hall and Percival got the hint. The bald man grew much more serious than he’d been a minute ago, and nodded his agreement. 

Percival followed the two men through the throng of the crowd, catching sight of Montague headed towards him and shaking his head. He did not want to be followed. He may have thought these two would ultimately reveal themselves to be crackpots, but he was seething inside too much to let it go now. And on the very off chance that what they did have to say revealed a hidden mole within MACUSA, Percival would eat his hat, but he still had not been there in person for months and he couldn’t let a thing like that go. Not if there was the slightest chance that they were onto something. Versailles could wait a few minutes more. 

They made it through the crowd even though curious eyes watched them as they passed. The hallway they entered must have led to the kitchens. There were trays of dishes laid out on a table, waiting to be picked up by the servers, and an open door at the end with truly delicious smells wafting through it, but the auburn haired man did not stop to speak there. He led them around the corner of the hall, in the opposite of the kitchen doors where they could just see the white hats of cooks moving about behind frosted glass. 

Percival was just about to say this was far enough, that any farther would display an amount of paranoia that he didn’t have the time for, but the man suddenly stopped, bringing the three of them to a halt. The balding man ended up at Percival’s side, but he turned from his friend and squared Percival in his sights like they were about to have a verbal sparring match. Percival was ready for it. But before either of them had the chance to open their mouths, the auburn haired man whirled around, his wand out, and disarmed Percival with merely a flick of the wrist. He used no words to cast the spell, and gave no warning. Percival’s wand simply flew from his sleeve before he even had a chance to register the attack and was knocked back with a downward swish of the man’s wand just as he was raising his hand in defence. All he saw was the wide eyes of the other man, watching him fall. In the back of Percival’s mind, he registered that the man hadn’t been expecting this. 

At the same time he hit the ground, he saw the swooping arc of a vaguely familiar wand amid flowing robes and red hair, aimed at the balding man, before a brilliant green light shot out its tip. Percival froze flat on his stomach where he’d turned over. He should be springing to his feet now. He _needed to get up_. The body next to him fell and it took him too long to react, the sight of the killing curse drawing out all the fears he’d so poorly buried after finding himself free just weeks ago. By the time he was on his feet, that wand was already pointed at him and he was driven back against the wall. It was a partial petrificus totalus, he realised when he couldn’t open his mouth to shout for help. 

He waited, breath coming fast, but the killing curse never came. The bespectacled man closed his eyes, took a deep, satisfied breath, and pushed an auburn lock away from his forehead before a slow smile spread across his face. A chill crept down Percival’s spine. Besides the obvious, something was very wrong here. He should be dead. He hadn’t reacted fast enough. Montague would wait too long to follow after Percival gave him the nod to stay. But this man merely brushed off his robes, pocketed his wand, and brought his eyes up to meet Percival’s once again, smiling. They were a striking blue at first, and Percival had noticed before with the contrast of the golden glasses, but then one changed. They became mismatched and the difference was so jarringly familiar that Percival stopped breathing altogether. 

The auburn haired man glanced from Percival down to the body on the floor. “Oops.” It came out too playful. Too carefree. Percival’s stomach sank as the man approached him, and he fought the bond as hard as he could with both his body and his magic, but then the man was in front of him, wrenching Percival forward by the shoulder and muttering “ _Imperio_ ” under his breath. 

Percival fought it as much as he could. He’d been trained for this, but his mind and his body were in a state of panic. He was going to go through this all over again, and that thought was terrifying. He couldn’t stop his legs from carrying him forward step by step to match the other man who was leading him down the hall, farther away from the kitchens and the party. 

Percival was screaming in his head, hoping desperately that there may be a legilimens near enough to hear him, so much that he didn’t pick up on the voices coming from behind them right away. He was tugged forward and his body responded to the command “Move!” without his consent, and in no time the two of them were running down the hall. 

Percival swore he heard Montague shouting, and then a woman’s voice, high and clear and very angry, and that might have been Evans. He hoped beyond all hope that it was them. That they would catch him. That they would separate him from this man’s hold even though they surely didn’t know who he was. Either way, Percival knew they wouldn’t be able to overtake the man. The best he could hope for was to free himself. 

His mind was a fog, one that wanted to pull him under, but there was too much happening around him and a part of him needed to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other and obeying commands as quickly as they came. He felt like a drunken man trying to navigate a fast paced broom. Everything registered a little too late for his conscious mind, and a moment later they burst into the cold, open air of the grounds. 

Paris sprawled out before them, but Percival was in too much of a daze to care. He felt like he was just beginning to register how they’d gotten out before the man’s hands were on him again and the familiar pull of apparition wrenched in his gut. 

When Percival reappeared, he fell to his knees. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was dark all around, a gravel road frozen over with as much ice and snow as the brush that could be seen around them. Above, the night sky shone as brilliantly as Percival had ever seen it, cloudless and shining with pinpoints of light. He barely had time to take it all in before the man who’d brought him there moved before him. With a lift of the man’s chin, Percival was forced to sit up and watch as the generally pleasant features of the auburn haired man faded away into a far more familiar face. The long tresses of hair were gone, the nose shortened and reshaped, the mouth gained a decided curl with fuller lips, but the eyes didn’t change from their mismatched colour. 

The man—Grindelwald—was, as always, smiling. “I heard you were looking for me.” He stretched his back, careless as if they had been out there for a stroll and nothing more, but his eyes fell back to Percival just as quickly. Percival wished he could speak even though he didn’t rightly know what to say. Shouting, cursing, anything seemed like a good idea. “And yet here you are, so displeased to see me. Can I do nothing right by you, Percival?” The man bent to one knee and drew his fingers under Percival’s chin, and Percival could imagine fanged teeth behind that smile. He wanted to scowl, but the muscles in his face wouldn’t allow it. Grindelwald closed his eyes and nodded, mocking Percival with a feigned understanding of his dilemma. “You can speak.” 

Percival’s first reaction was to spit in his face. Unfortunately, it didn’t land. With a blink of cold eyes, it faded away before it ever left his mouth. Grindelwald had good reflexes, Percival had to give him that, or maybe it was just the legilimency that tipped him off. “You’re a bastard,” Percival growled instead. “I’m going to see you rot in prison.” 

“ _Percy_ ,” Grindelwald only looked pained. “We left off on such favourable terms. What’s gotten into you? Upset I didn’t take the time to say goodbye?” Percival was about to commence shouting, but Grindelwald raised his hand, quieting him in and instant. The man’s insufferable tone sobered. “MACUSA took their sweet time finding you, didn’t they? I had feared that might be the case. But here you are, back on my proverbial doorstep, looking to get involved again. What can I say other than you really should have kept out of my business? I left you alive so you could continue _living_ , Percy.” 

“After everything you did with my face and my name?” Percival asked when he had his voice back, hating the way his own name sounded on Grindelwald’s tongue. “I found all of it when I woke up, handed over in a nice little report. That ‘squib’ boy you used and abandoned, _looking_ for obscurials? You’re despicable.” 

Grindelwald raised his brows. “MACUSA sentenced him to death by firing squad, not me. Do you think I _made_ him what he was? I simply underestimated him, at my own expense I must admit. But I never wanted to see that power wasted or watch him hurt.” 

Rage boiled in the pit of Percival’s stomach. “I don’t believe that for a _minute_.” He remembered what he’d read in that file and he remembered what Tina had told him. He remembered the look on her face, the way she’d tried hard to keep it together. And Percival also remembered every night Grindelwald came home late after work, half-hard in his trousers already and making his way from the door straight to Percival, wherever he was, and Percival had barely been able to do anything about it on those occasions. He was no longer left to wonder what got the man so worked up. 

“That is unfortunate.” Grindelwald took a moment to appear dismayed. “But it also doesn’t matter.” He rose to his feet and Percival rose with him, the spell giving him no warning and leaving his knees stinging from where they’d hit the gravel and the cold seeping into his bones. “I haven’t gone to all the trouble of acquiring you again just for your opinions on how I spent my time with other potential followers.” Percival nearly spat at that, to hear that boy called as such. “You will, however, provide a good many other uses.” 

Grindelwald stepped closer and Percival wished he could have backed away. It always unsettled him that they were the same height. From a few paces back, Grindelwald gave off the impression of being taller than he actually was, but this seemed more _intimate_. Percival was sure it was intentional. One of the many things Grindelwald was so attuned to. He used any little detail he could for leverage over someone, and with Percival so often in his personal space over the past several months, that person was usually him. 

All he could do was stand straight as Grindelwald wrapped his hands around Percival’s arms again, and this time the jolt of apparition wasn’t quite so unexpected. 

Where he ended up, however, was. 

It appeared to be the entryway of a flat. As soon as they reappeared, Grindelwald turned and led him down the hallway, Percival’s head spinning all the while as they passed a living room and what he guessed was a kitchen around the corner, although he couldn’t turn his head enough to see. He was right back where he’d started, he began to realise with a dawning panic. 

There were three doorways in the hall, not counting the toilet, and Grindelwald stopped beside one. He took out his wand and muttered a quiet incantation, and the door slid neatly to the side, slimming down for another to appear beside it. He placed his hand on the knob, opened it, and then turned to Percival, his smile softly chiding. “Come now, Percy. I know you don’t like being cooped up, but I wasn’t that terrible to you the last time,” he said, moving a step closer and taking Percival’s hand to draw him inside. 

To Percival’s horror, his body went willingly. Somehow not even his terror at the recent memories of being kept this way, not knowing if he would ever be free again, not knowing whether Grindelwald really would kill him in the end, did not break the curse no matter how keenly he felt them. Not for the first time, he wondered whether it would have been better if Grindelwald had tortured him just so he wasn’t constantly on edge over what to expect, letting himself grow complacent and then being jarred into a panic all over again.

Grindelwald frowned and tapped his finger to Percival’s temple. “Back here again, are we? You were warming up to me in the end, you know.” Percival wanted to scowl, but Grindelwald moved out of the way. He went to the bed the room was furnished with—there was also a small couch and two tables, one beside each—and fished around beneath it. 

The shackles he brought out made Percival’s blood first run cold and then boil. He was _not_ going to do this. He was _not_ going to be this man’s prisoner again. Grindelwald had rarely chained him the last time, even after several attempts to attack the man. Percival could have slapped himself for expecting the same. He threw every mental curse he could think of at the man as he approached and took hold of Percival’s wrists and, gently, clasped the cursed iron around them, one after the other. 

“Don’t worry, pet. If you behave, they won’t stay for long.” Grindelwald met his eyes and Percival wanted to wipe the smile off his face. He was dimly aware that he shouldn’t have been feeling any of these things under the imperius curse. He should have been happy, contented, and barely cognisant of what was going on around him, but the moment he thought it, Grindelwald shook his head. “I like hearing your voice.” He let Percival’s hands drop, the iron clanking around his wrists as they settled by his sides, and then Grindelwald raised a hand, removing the curse. 

The moment Percival felt the fog fade from his mind, he lunged. He threw both his body and his magic at Grindelwald, but the man took a step back and Percival was yanked back by the end of the chains, and his magic did nothing. “ _Bastard_!” he shouted, struggling against the shackles holding him down and suppressing his magic. “I’ll tear you li—” 

Grindelwald raised his hand again and Percival’s voice cut short. “Now, Percy, there is no need to yell. I can hear you just fine, and you’ll frighten our companion.” 

The moment he said it, Percival caught movement at the doorway. Something small was standing just behind it, he could see by the shadow it cast in the lamps of the hall, and then a dark head of hair peeked around the corner. 

It was a child. A little boy. Percival would have been struck dumb if his voice hadn’t already been taken from him. He registered Grindelwald perform another motion with his hand and the restriction around his vocal cords eased away. Percival opened his mouth, but then he caught the boy’s eyes. Staring up at him in a deep brown under long lashes and small, furrowed brows, Percival realised he’d seen those eyes before. He recognised this little face, even though all the pictures he’d seen of the boy were of him not as a boy at all. 

“Credence?” he breathed. 

The boy shrunk back behind the door at being addressed, but still one eye remained peeking out at him. The boy clearly thought he was doing something wrong by looking. 

Percival turned to Grindelwald, shock running through him. “What have you done?” 

But the man merely stood there looking pleased with himself and showed no reaction to Percival’s question. He turned to the boy and lifted his chin towards the hall. “Go on now. I’ll only be a minute.” 

To Percival’s greater shock, the small boy only nodded and let go of the door to scamper off. The small patter of footsteps drew down the hall until they faded into nothing, and Percival turned back to Grindelwald, his mouth hanging open. 

The man’s features brightened into a smile. “You’ll have company this time. Goodnight, Percival.” And with that, Grindelwald went to the door, leaving Percival bound, dumbstruck, and unable to follow before he was shut in.


	9. Chapter 9

Gellert stretched, cracking his neck, as he listened for Percival’s shouting. He half expected it to come at any moment, but it didn’t. He’d muffled the walls enough so that if the man did feel inclined to scream for help, he could be ignored. To his great surprise, Percival remained quiet. 

It was difficult to anticipate a mind in the midst of shock, but he was delighted that Percival had kept himself composed. It was more convenient, at least. 

After a night of running around, tracking the man down in Paris and the ensuing scuffle that followed, Gellert was invigorated. It had been weeks since he’d last seen battle, and even when he took his officers out on a mission and they saw a bit of action, it was never with someone like Graves. Although he did have to concede it would have been more fun had he not ambushed the man. Percival hadn’t had the time to put up much of a fight. Still, Gellert’s blood was singing as he swept down the hall, looking for Credence. He had his prize now. Two of them, in fact. 

He found the boy waiting patiently on the couch, his hands folded between his knees and watching with wide eyes as he spotted Gellert. Credence was far more uneasy about the whole thing than he was. He could feel uncertainty wafting from the boy’s mind, but the sight of Gellert and all his confidence calmed it somewhat. 

Gellert went to sit beside him on the couch, wrapping an arm around Credence’s shoulders. “Are you alright, my dear boy?” 

Credence lifted up his legs and curled against Gellert’s chest, nodding silently. “He looked just like you.” Flashes of emotion came from him. Credence had been as frightened as he was fascinated to see the real Graves, and Gellert saw himself and the man clearly in the boy’s mental recollections, standing there in the spare room he’d created while Gellert was fastening the cuffs round his wrists. To Credence’s mind, they seemed impossibly tall and immensely powerful. 

Gellert smiled. “He won’t hurt you.” He shifted and caressed his thumb over Credence’s cheek, watching the boy’s eyelids flutter. “He’ll want to escape, but all you need do is what I say and he’ll be fine. Trust me, I think he has a soft spot for you.” Credence looked up, surprised, and Gellert smiled. 

“I thought he didn’t even know who I was?” A wrinkle formed between the boy’s brows and Gellert kissed it away. That got a light blush and a begrudging smile from the boy, still so unused to receiving affection. 

“He’s been studying up on you, I believe. Probably feels quite guilty over how you were treated by the American wizards. But you can ask him now if you’d like.” Gellert’s smile turned crooked when he felt the apprehension in the boy’s mind grow. Credence shook his head and ducked down to press his nose into Gellert’s collar, encouraging Gellert to wrap another arm around him and hold him close. He couldn’t help but laugh at Credence’s sudden shyness. “I won’t be upset,” he said, brushing the boy’s hair. “Just as long as you’re careful. He can’t use his magic while those shackles are on, and you know I’ve warded the flat.” Gellert may have been sure that Percival wouldn’t hurt Credence, or at most threaten the boy’s life in a bluff to manipulate Gellert, but Credence wasn’t so sure. He’d suspected it after hours of watching Percival turn Credence’s photograph over in his hands while the man worked to track Gellert down, and the man’s mind had been an open book the moment he saw the boy crouched in the doorway. Percival was a good occlumens, but his mind was no match for Gellert’s legilimency. 

“What if he hates it here and never comes around?” Credence asked quietly, mouthing the words into Gellert’s collar. Trepidation still filled his thoughts, and Gellert couldn’t rightly blame him. Percival had not been happy when he’d arrived. The man looked like he’d wanted to rip Gellert apart with his bare hands if he couldn’t use magic, but Gellert remembered him like that not so long ago, too, when he’d first forced Percival to be a prisoner inside his own flat. 

But Gellert had taken the time to look into Percival’s mind back at the party. He’d seen the man’s dreams, and he’d seen the man’s shame. Most of Percival’s personal anger towards him was a veneer of what he thought he should feel. He hated the things Gellert had brought out in him, but they’d been brought out nevertheless. What he was truly upset over was Credence and the boy’s ‘death’. It was fortunate that Credence had far fewer ethical quandaries about compromising his personal identity. Credence hadn’t been able to build much of an identity of his own. All he wanted was to be loved, to be cared for, and not to be lied to, and Gellert was very much reminded of that with the way the boy burrowed against his chest. 

“I have faith,” he whispered into Credence’s ear, and then nipped it gently. Credence squirmed and Gellert caught a flash of shame from the boy’s mind, knowing they were just down the hall from another person. And not just any other person, but one who looked just like his Mr. Graves. Gellert chuckled. “Shy now, are you?” Like a little animal, Credence tried to burrow under Gellert’s arm. He couldn’t help but laugh. “He can’t hear us. That room is warded against sound from the outside unless one were to knock directly on the door. If he were to start shouting, we’d only just be able to hear him. You and I are perfectly alone.” 

Gellert’s words sank into Credence’s mind, and the boy believed him, but Credence just couldn’t stop feeling like they were being watched. He tried to nod into Gellert’s arm, but he didn’t move from that position. 

With a sigh, Gellert lifted him from the couch. “What do you say we retire to the bedroom, then? It’s been a long night already, don’t you think?” Sitting with Credence was comfortable, but his blood was still running hot from the pursuit, and the boy with his sweet, red mouth and newly shy eyes looked more than tempting enough to help him with that relief tonight. And he wanted to show Credence there was no need to be shy. Not in their own flat, nor anywhere else. Credence was going to be a powerful wizard someday, and he needed to learn to enjoy himself a little more. 

Credence nodded, liking that idea. Having two sets of closed doors between them and Graves was a strong incentive in his mind. Gellert just chuckled at his anxiety and gave the boy a kiss on the mouth, lingering long enough for tendrils of nervousness to creep into Credence’s mind before he drew back and carried the boy to the bedroom. 

Ever since that first night together, Credence hadn’t spent many in his own bed. Gellert had procured another set of clothes for him, but he still kept Credence’s things in the room he’d given the boy. He’d even taken Credence out to the wizarding shops in the city for a day to find him a new pair of shoes, and Credence had been amazed just to see even a tiny portion of the magical community. 

When he laid the boy down on his bed, Credence immediately wriggled onto his back with a smile, letting Gellert pull off his socks and undo his trousers, divesting him of his day wear before Gellert stopped to do the same with his own clothes. He’d only done this a handful of times for the boy, and Credence could certainly undress himself, but he liked having Gellert’s hands on him doing it for him. He liked watching Gellert undress himself, too. Gellert caught planes of his own skin from the boy’s mind as he pulled off his shirt and left it in the laundry for Gwendoline to take care of later. He was half hard by the time he turned back to Credence, just listening to the boy’s anticipation. There was an undercurrent of anxiety to it tonight, with the real Graves in the flat. Credence was worried Gellert might think he was thinking about the man and that tickled Gellert’s amusement, for the boy was more devoted to him than he knew. Gellert did not feel the slightest inclination to be jealous. 

He wasn’t, however, about to tell Credence that. Not when the boy was so eager to prove his loyalties. 

Credence sat up on the bed when Gellert crawled in. He’d left the boy’s shirt on, knowing that he would only take it off minutes later, but he enjoyed the act in the moment, settling down next to Credence and turning him onto his back to be kissed while Gellert’s fingers worked at the buttons. He enjoyed the way it parted to reveal skin so soft and so smooth it was almost a marvel in itself, and Credence waited ever so patiently for him to work. There were times when he caught flashes in the boy’s mind of enjoying this as though he were a real child a little too much. Credence loved that he didn’t have to lead, but he was learning to make his wishes known with small movements that Gellert always picked up on so well. The boy loved that Gellert could wrap his arms around him and pick him up or smother him completely with his body if he wanted to, and Gellert had to admit that he was partial to the same. Folding his hands around Credence’s hips and feeling the softness of his skin and the smallness of him was marvellous. 

When Credence’s shirt finally fell to the floor, the boy eagerly pressed himself up against Gellert before he even had a chance to pin Credence under him. Credence was developing a method of asking for what he wanted without really asking at all. He would avoid eye contact, and never spoke unless he was spoken to, but he would place himself exactly where he wanted to be and hope not to be moved. Gellert couldn’t help but be amused. 

He rolled himself on top of the boy, keeping his weight planted just to the side so as not to smother him too much, and began kissing Credence’s neck while he let his hands roam. He loved touching Credence. The boy’s skin had always been smooth, even when he’d been older, at least where it wasn’t scarred. He rarely saw the sun and he’d been blessed not to have to shave often, but this…. Nothing could describe the way he felt now. His flesh was like silken cream under Gellert’s hands. Against his lips, Credence felt magnificent. 

The boy’s little cock was perhaps the most silken of all of him, but Gellert was not in the mood for indulging Credence with his mouth that night. He wanted something else, and he could tell that Credence wanted it, too. The boy wanted to know that Gellert knew what he was doing, bringing the real Graves there. He wanted to feel that Gellert was in charge, and that he had to do what Gellert said. It was a rare opportunity when Credence’s desire for stability and authority outweighed his desire for sweeter comforts. 

So Gellert widened the boy’s legs around his middle and let his body rub up against Credence while they kissed, until he lifted and pulled Credence up by the shoulder. “Turn over,” he said into the boy’s ear and felt phantom tingles that th words sent down Credence’s skin. Credence did so obediently, laying on his front with his legs out behind him, arms crossed over the pillow and glancing back at Gellert. Gellert positioned himself over the boy, comparatively strong arms planted on either side of him, and bit lightly where the nape of Credence’s neck met his shoulder. 

He didn’t move away as he normally did after that, just kept worrying that spot with his teeth until the tingles down Credence’s spine began to grow more noticeable. Then, with a bit of magic to slick the way, he ran his forefinger in between the crack of Credence’s arse. Up and down slowly it went, and Credence was truly shivering now, his mind going to places it had often done during the times Gellert touched him there, to things he had never spoke of aloud and only dared think of in absolute solitude. But this time, Gellert let his finger rest over the little ring of Credence’s muscle and began to rub there until Credence gasped, unable to avoid imagining it any longer. 

Gellert opened his mouth wider and bit down a little more firmly when he applied pressure against that ring. He didn’t make it painful, just a clamp to hold Credence down while he worked at the boy’s entrance. Credence was gasping and shivering before he’d even been breached, excited and nervous and anxious all at the same time. It didn’t even cross his mind to tell Gellert to stop, even though Credence had thought this to be one of the most base and shameful things two men could do with each other. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, necessarily, for his imagination and the curl of desire deep in his gut told Gellert that well enough, it was simply that he thought this was a line even he wasn’t base enough for. Gellert knew Credence never thought very highly of himself, but the boy did _try_ to be a decent person. He was going to have to learn that that didn’t mean anything when he was living with Gellert now. 

With a little more slickness, Gellert pushed inside. Credence let out a high pitched whine, but a soft one. For a minute there, the boy had thought Gellert might not actually do it. He’d thought he was being teased. So Gellert pulled off his neck and kissed up the length of it until he came to Credence’s ear. “Don’t be ashamed. You feel so good around me, even just my finger. My beautiful boy, imagine how good you’d feel around my cock.” 

Credence shivered, a response dying in his throat, and Gellert pressed in farther. Gellert could feel it in his mind, the slide of his knuckle like nothing Credence had ever felt before, until he pressed down, crooked his finger a little, and began rubbing slowly back and forth, searching…. Credence suddenly stiffened underneath him, bright blooming pleasure filling the boy’s mind. He gasped in surprise and Gellert grinned. 

“Right there, hm?” He did it again and Credence began to whine. He caught the boy suddenly re-evaluating everything he’d learned about this particular act and Gellert couldn’t help but chuckle. “You thought this was supposed to be degrading, didn’t you?” 

Credence’s mouth hung open and his eyes looked a little distant when Gellert didn’t let up on the stroking, but the boy nodded, trying to answer even though he felt like he never had before. What Credence was experiencing seemed like a strangely profound thing. This kind of pleasure around his cock had been one thing, and Credence, although not used to it, knew what to expect even before Gellert came into his life. This kind of pleasure _inside him_ was something else entirely. 

With more slickness, Gellert added a second finger. He didn’t take away the sense of Credence’s muscle stretching around him, nor the slight burn it caused. Credence was so small, he should have some warning, Gellert decided. And the boy could take pain very well. 

Credence whimpered under him while Gellert kept stroking, ignoring the boy’s cock as well as his own. As much as he just wanted to take Credence, he needed him thinking about what was happening in the moment as much as possible. He did not want Credence looking back on it later and not knowing how to feel. As in all things, Gellert would guide him in this. 

Credence closed his eyes and just breathed. His hands were clutching the pillow now, but Gellert knew he wasn’t in pain. The burn had been minimal. What Credence was trying to navigate was the pleasure of it. 

He bent over the boy’s back and let his weight settle there, as though he were on top of Credence and pushing inside him with more than just his fingers. It wasn’t difficult to create the mental image for the boy with the sensation, and Credence’s eyes parted to glance back at him, cheeks burning, but wanting desperately to see Gellert now. 

Gellert grinned. Credence looked like he’d been drugged, dazed with sensation as he was. He leaned in for a kiss to reassure the boy, since he knew he could look somewhat unsettling when he was enjoying their sessions together too much. Even Percival had had those stray thoughts at Gellert’s smiles on occasion, and Percival was quite a lot surer of himself than Credence was. 

“Would you like to be mine, Credence?” Gellert drew his free hand down the boy’s back. “Would you like to feel me inside you and know you’re giving me just as much pleasure as I’m giving you now, if not more?” Credence shivered. The words curled inside his chest and felt right, just as Gellert knew they would. Credence wanted to know he was doing the right thing, and Gellert was the one who decided that now. Credence was nearly ready to give him anything he wanted. He kept his fingers moving inside the boy and rocked his hips against the bed below. Credence was so much smaller than he was that it would take a bit of manoeuvring, but he’d been between the boy’s thighs enough times now not to scare him. 

Credence drew in a long breath, and Gellert could feel him trying to imagine what it would be like to have a cock inside him. The boy still wasn’t sure if sodomy was something he could commit to, but Gellert _wanted_ it, and if just this much felt so good inside him…. Credence was having a very difficult time deciding. 

Gellert bent and ran the tip of his tongue over Credence’s earlobe, reminding the boy of just how obscene his desires could be, and Credence was what he desired most. Credence melted into it. Gellert caught the stray part of him that still thought it was a little gross, but that was fiercely overruled by the part of him that loved the warmth and wetness and knowledge that it was Gellert’s tongue and it meant that Gellert wanted him. Gellert nuzzled against Credence’s cheek and then brought himself up enough to rub his cock against the boy’s thigh, just below where his fingers were buried. 

“I…I….” Credence sighed into the pillow, his mind honed into a narrow focus at the two points of Gellert’s fingers inside him and the length pressed against his thigh. Credence wanted to ask if it would hurt, but he was afraid to. He was afraid of sounding weak or doing something that displeased Gellert, which might have put him off somewhat if the boy really didn’t want this, but as it was, it only brought that crooked smile back to his mouth. Fortunately, Credence wasn’t looking to see it that time. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Gellert crooned. “There’s no need to worry about that. It’ll hurt a little, but I can ease the pain.” He ran the palm of his hand up the boy’s spine to remind him of all the times he’d taken Credence’s pain away before. Pains far worse than what he was suggesting now. Credence shivered at the memory of what Gellert had done for him in secret. It only seemed right that he should do something for the man now, but that wasn’t it entirely either. Gellert could feel just how much Credence was tempted at the thought of Gellert being _inside_ him. If Credence did this, he would do so because he was curious. 

Finally, the boy nodded. His breath came in small gasps as he spoke. “Okay.” 

Gellert grinned and kissed his cheek, letting Credence feel the curve of his mouth to know that he was pleased. He squeezed the boy’s side and gave another few strokes of his fingers before pulling them out and wiping them on a handkerchief from the table. “Just the tip first,” he whispered in Credence’s ear and felt the boy shudder at the mental image. Credence was already missing his fingers. 

Gellert sat up and licked his lips, sitting over the boy’s hips and positioning himself between Credence’s small cheeks was a sight to behold. Credence tried to look behind himself and catch a glimpse. He could see the anticipation on Gellert’s face, but he couldn’t see what Gellert saw. He spread Credence’s cheeks and for a moment just rubbed his cock there, enjoying the sight of it slipping between the boy’s flesh and imagining how far up inside him it could go. 

Credence was breathing deep. It hitched softly every time the head of Gellert’s cock passed over his hole and much to Gellert’s delight, the round little muscle even puckered for him. He scooted his hips up close and positioned himself just right, watching the head press up against Credence, pushing more and more until that round little pucker began to open for him. 

Distantly, he felt a bright bloom of pain from Credence’s mind and heard a whimper. Credence was clutching the pillow tighter now. His shoulders were straining and his face was scrunched ever so slightly, but he was trying to show as few signs of pain as possible. The boy didn’t want to disappoint Gellert, but he hadn’t been expecting it to feel like this. 

“Shhh…,” Gellert whispered and with one hand stroked Credence’s hair. He guided himself in deeper, watching his cock disappear into the boy. Another whimper escaped Credence, and when Gellert looked up, his eyes were shut tight. Credence was wondering why it hurt so much when Gellert said he’d be gentle. It wasn’t a pain Credence couldn’t take, he’d had far, far worse, but the fingers had felt nothing like this. 

“It’s okay,” Gellert bent and breathed into the back of the boy’s neck, smiling. He was truly wrapping the boy’s loyalty around his finger if Credence was doing this for him and giving no protest or even showing more obvious signs of discomfort. Gellert could have taken the pain away the moment he’d begun, but he wanted Credence to know what this felt like, what it _really_ felt like, to have Gellert inside of him. He moved his hips and Credence couldn’t hide a tiny wince even though he quickly schooled his features back to a passive expression. 

It was then that Gellert laid a hand over his back and whispered softly into Credence’s neck, and the burn began to lessen. When Credence opened his mouth to breathe, it wasn’t in pain any longer. 

“How’s that now?” Gellert asked, slowly beginning to move his hips. It was a subtle motion, but he knew Credence felt everything he did. He felt it, too. The boy’s body was impossibly tight around him, slicked only with magic and the malleability spell, and Gellert really needed to keep control of himself or this would be over far too soon. 

Credence was trying to form a response, any response, but all he could do was breathe. With the way Gellert was angling himself, he began rubbing like his fingers had done inside of Credence. Just right after every other little twist of his hips or so. But Gellert could see the boy forcing himself to answer after the memory of the pain began to fade. 

“It feels…. It feels good.” A pulse of shame, sudden and unexpected at vocalising such an opinion, went through Credence’s mind and Gellert could not help his smile growing. Credence quickly tried to push it aside and focus on being allowed to enjoy this, something he still wasn’t quite sure he was supposed to do, even though it was clear to him that Gellert wanted him to. 

Gellert moved his hips a little deeper, still sinking in just as slowly, but now rocking gently back and forth. “Hmm, just good?” He punctuated the question with another thrust and watched Credence’s eyes flutter, but not from wincing this time. He settled himself down on his elbows, caging Credence in. He had to curl over the boy to keep them at a level height. Credence’s eyes darted behind him to catch Gellert’s, making sure Gellert was only teasing, Gellert obliged him with a half smirk and another thrust that made Credence gasp again. 

“Better than good,” Credence finally admitted and Gellert’s smile widened. 

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?” Gellert chuckled in his ear and lowered his voice. “If only you could know what it feels like to be inside you. You are magnificent, Credence.” He placed a kiss to the pink lobe as Credence blushed. Never could anyone have imagined that the young man from the Second Salem church would have looked so good like this, with pink cheeks and reddened lips, parted in pleasure, eyes fluttering, dark hair beginning to stick to his forehead, and more than a decade younger. The boy had always been pleasing to the eye, but so much of him had been concealed in that church. 

Praise heated Credence’s cheeks even further. It struck him with satisfaction and twisted his stomach with shame all at once. It was hard for Credence to believe Gellert when he said things like that, but they were still comforting. Gellert kept kissing him—at his temple, his cheek, his neck and shoulder—as low as he could go before he couldn’t reach that far anymore, and let his thrusts begin to pick up their pace. 

Credence’s toes dug into the mattress below them and lifted him into Gellert’s thrusts, much to his delight. That meant the boy was also rubbing his cock into the mattress on every downward thrust Gellert gave him, and Credence was enjoying both now. Gellert let him go on like that for a little while, rubbing his hips against the mattress and then back against Gellert. With the pain gone, it seemed the boy was starting to get over his notions about being penetrated. If Gellert hadn’t been able to tell from his mind, the look of bliss on his face would have made it clear enough. 

Credence’s hands were bunching and releasing the pillow, kneading it in an endearing way he probably wasn’t even aware of. It was distracting enough for Gellert to want to hold them, so he laid his hands over Credence’s and gripped the boy’s small fists inside of his own while he pressed inside him over and over again. It solidified the way he was pinning Credence down, even though the boy was already effectively pinned before Gellert had taken control of his hands. He lowered himself a little more, laying over Credence’s back, and rocking into him more than thrusting, moving Credence’s body beneath his own. 

Credence let out another whimper, but this time there was a pitch to it that hadn’t been there before. It sounded high and needy. There were words behind it that the boy didn’t dare utter, but wanted to express all the same. Credence may not have been the most verbal of partners, and not only in their intimate moments, but in a way Gellert didn’t mind. He could tell perfectly well what the boy was thinking without words. Not so for Credence, however. If he allowed himself to be rough now, if he took away the spells to ease the experience, Credence’s faith in him would be jarred all over again. So Gellert kept it gentle, but he didn’t try to stop himself from being possessive. Credence liked Gellert’s hands over his. He liked it when Gellert bit his neck and his shoulder. He liked it when Gellert moved him every which way without asking. All of that just made Gellert’s cock harder. Having an obscurial working for him was one thing, but _possessing_ the boy was entirely another. 

His pace was picking up. Even with the spells, he had to be careful not to be too rough, or push too deep without Credence’s body being quite ready for it. He squeezed the boy’s wrists and Credence gave a high whine, but made no attempt to break free. The boy’s legs wriggled underneath him, and Gellert bent to his ear again. He was going to make some comment about Credence enjoying this far too much, but found he was a little too breathless himself. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the words. From the way Credence was trying to move back against him, and the way he was clenching around him, Credence already knew he was enjoying this more than he thought he would. 

Gellert took the lobe of the boy’s ear into his mouth and released his hands so that Gellert could wrap them around Credence instead. He reached down underneath the boy to fondle his small, straining cock while pushing him back into Gellert’s hips, and Credence’s small whimpers turned into whines. 

A dip into the boy’s mind revealed a flood of sensation. Gellert inside of him and outside, wrapped around him, at the same time was too much. Credence began trembling. He’d known pain before, excruciating pain, but he’d never known pleasure that bordered on the edge of torture and Credence didn’t know what to do with himself. 

It was delicious to watch. 

“Hold on,” Gellert grunted, enjoying the feel of the boy’s overwhelmed mind nearly as much as he was enjoying his body. 

Credence let go of the pillow and dug his nails into Gellert’s arm where it wrapped around his chest. For a moment it felt like the boy was trying to claw through him just as futilely as he’d attempted to shock Gellert the first time Credence appeared to him in obscurial form since he’d ‘died’, but then Gellert realised he was, in fact, _holding on_. 

Credence’s desperation only made him pant harder, thrust a little deeper, trying to get more of the sweet, satisfying feel of him. His thrusts began to punch little sounds from the boy’s throat, whimpers cut short by bursts of air, sometimes pitching high into a whine when Credence thought he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Gellert pressed his mouth against the boy’s neck to feel it as much as hear it. He wanted to feel all of this little body. He wanted to envelope Credence, to smother him and sink inside him all at once. _Delicious_ was the only English word he could think to describe it. 

Credence’s mind was going dark, narrowing down to pinpoints of pleasure and nothing else. Gellert felt just the edges of it, but the torturous pleasure confused the boy. It drew old, habitual instincts from him to let loose, let control slip away and lash out, but it was not pain that overwhelmed him, and Credence didn’t know how to manage it. 

Gellert had the most vivid image of the boy under him exploding into obscurus form. It may have been dangerous to push it, but Gellert couldn’t help it. He wanted to feel Credence on edge. He gripped the boy tight and his hips began moving faster, feeling a well building inside the boy. Distantly he heard Credence crying in pleasure, ever so soft with incoherence, unable to restrain it anymore. And then the boy’s mind whited out. 

Credence was coming apart. But when Gellert opened his eyes, the boy was still whole in his arms, jaw slack and eyes distant, his little cock twitching ever so slightly in Gellert’s palm. Climax had overtaken him, not the obscurus. 

That did not stop Gellert. He kept thrusting, moving his hand away from Credence’s cock and to his hip instead, squeezing tight and holding him there while Gellert drove his pleasure home. Credence’s breathing quickly turned back to soft cries, but this time it really was because he was overwhelmed. The sensation turned from too much pleasure to just too much, and Gellert could feel he was doing his best to hold on. 

He wondered if he’d draw it out of the boy yet. Credence began to squirm, but it only felt that much better with the boy writing under him. Again the image of Credence coming apart under his hands in inky, oily swells of tendrils surfaced in his mind. He remembered those tendrils feeling soft when they weren’t painful, barely there, but silky, with a faint reminiscence of oil. Credence’s real body under him mimicked it in so many ways, the boy’s sweat slick skin was still the softest Gellert had ever felt, but Credence was more than tangible. 

A long, sharp cry from him had Gellert losing himself before he could find out what it felt like. Hearing Credence like that while he trembled so exquisitely under Gellert did it, leaving him pulsing inside the boy on a high that had never felt so good. He gave a choked off sound that made Credence tense and squeeze around him one last time. It felt like the boy was wringing him dry. 

He caught himself before he collapsed, moving to the side just far enough not to blanket the boy completely. Gellert was loathe to pull out, but they were both oversensitive now, and he wanted to wrap Credence up in his arms for doing so well at the end. When Gellert pulled him closer, Credence was still trembling a little. His back was sticky with sweat where they had rubbed together and his thighs were slick with the magic and Gellert’s come. Credence buried his head under Gellert’s chin, desperate to feel close still even though heat was coming off the boy in waves from the sweat they’d worked up. 

Gellert petted his hair and let himself sink against the pillows. “Thank you.” He didn’t even have to think to soften his voice, so out of breath he was. “You did wonderfully tonight. Absolutely perfect.” 

His fingers drew sweat slick strands away from Credence’s forehead as the boy looked up. The magnitude of just how overwhelmed Credence was feeling showed in his face, but he was starting to settle down. When their eyes met, he offered Gellert a rare smile. Somehow, it was almost shy. Gellert had opened up a new world for him, and in spite of everything, Credence enjoyed it. Gellert’s words earlier passed through the boy’s mind, when Gellert had asked if Credence would like to be his. The boy was feeling it now. Hazy with pleasure and feelings of attachment, Credence _wanted_ to be his. It only made Gellert’s smile widen. 

“Time for bed,” he whispered and then reached for the bedside table where he kept a cloth for the worst of the messes he planned to make with Credence in his bed. Spelling it warm and wet with a breath, he ran it between Credence’s thighs, listening to the boy’s breath hitch with the pleasant sensation mixed with his oversensitivity. Gellert cleaned his front and back, and then himself before removing the rest of the fluids with a wave of his hand. The cloth wasn’t completely necessary, he supposed, but it was an enjoyable task. Credence liked it, too. 

Once they were clean and dry, he opened his arms and Credence curled against him. Their body temperatures were slowly moving back to normal and so Gellert pulled up the blanket around Credence’s shoulders lest the boy get cold with the air against his skin. Credence’s eyes were already half lidded as he laid his head against the pillow. It was a good look on him, Gellert thought drowsily. Lazy satisfaction on Credence’s features made him look even softer. 

Gellert ran a hand over his cheek as he felt the boy drift into slumber, wondering what Percy would say if he could see them like this.

* * *

Gellert was getting used to waking with a small bundle of Credence in his arms. Occasionally it unnerved him upon opening his eyes to find the boy plastered to him with tufts of black hair under his nose and in his mouth, and he’d have to put a little distance between them, but usually it was quite pleasant. Credence liked fitting himself under Gellert’s chin and didn’t seem to mind being enfolded in that much body heat. It was almost as though he was making up for the touch lost to him in his real youth. 

Gellert was not shy about waking him, however. If the boy was going to stay in his bed, he would move when Gellert needed to move, and this was one morning he could not allow himself to rest for long. 

He yawned and stretched and placed a kiss to the top of Credence’s head before extracting the boy from his arms. Credence barely woke for it. His thoughts were hazy and contented, and it was no bother to him what Gellert was doing. 

“I’ve gone and spoiled you,” Gellert muttered, rising from the bed in his nudity to see if Credence roused enough to watch him, and indeed the boy did. Through half lidded eyes, Gellert caught sight of himself in Credence’s mind, and so he turned back to the boy with a wink, catching Credence off guard, before he went to find his clothes. 

By the time he was out of the shower, Credence had risen, but not from the bed. Gellert returned to find the room’s door shut when he’d left it cracked before. It didn’t take him long to see why Credence had done it. The room currently containing their ‘guest’ was only a few feet away. 

Gellert wiped the frown from his face before he opened the door and gave Credence a kind smile instead. The boy was sitting up in bed, still not dressed, and looking worried. Gellert didn’t have to glance into his mind to guess what Credence was thinking. Considerately, he closed the door behind him. 

“Time to get up.” He passed by the bed and went to dry his hair with a spell, feeling Credence’s eyes on him wherever he moved. Stopping in front of the mirror gave him a view of the boy behind him. 

Credence did as he was told. He climbed out of bed, feet slapping softly against the floor, and went to find the clothes he’d worn last night since his own were still in his room. 

Gellert watched him out of the corner of his eye while slicking back his hair. “No.” 

The boy looked up, eyes wide and wondering what he’d done wrong. He’d frozen while picking up his trousers from the floor and reaching to put on his underwear. 

“Go to your room and find some new clothes. Put those in the laundry.” Gellert turned his eyes back to the task at hand and felt Credence’s stomach drop. It wasn’t that the boy was afraid of being seen nude around him any longer, even though it did make Credence blush sometimes when Gellert stared. It was that he would have to pass Graves’ room while being so. 

Credence looked down at the cotton fabric in his hands and then back up to Gellert, thinking maybe Gellert didn’t realise what he was asking. “But….” 

“Credence,” Gellert interrupted him even though the boy wasn’t going to say anything more than that. He raised a brow through the mirror, pointedly meeting Credence’s worried eyes. 

He didn’t have to ask again. 

Credence broke eye contact and nodded, looking back down and folding the clothes over his arms as he went to find his shirt, too. Obediently, he put them in the hamper, and then stood for a moment, naked in the middle of Gellert’s bedroom, eyeing the door. Gellert could still see his reflection, but the boy didn’t look back at him to plead. Credence bit his lip and his little fists clenched before he put one foot in front of the other and reached for the handle. He turned it slowly, trying not to look like he was as wary as he really was, but there was no disguising the way he opened it a crack and peeked through before opening it further. Graves’ door was still closed, and swiftly, Credence stepped into the hall and hurried to his own room. 

Gellert smiled to himself and finished up in front of the mirror. He enjoyed testing Credence’s uneasiness more than he had when they’d first met, and he was glad. The boy had been a wreck at the start, and now…. Gellert had to wonder whether Credence really had changed much or whether his perspective had. Of course the boy felt better in a more welcoming environment and a trusted, or somewhat trusted, companion to keep him on the right track. He wasn’t imagining all of it. 

Credence hadn’t been quite as broken as Gellert had first assumed. He just hid his defiance very, very well. Which meant Gellert would have to watch for that in the future, carefully, although he couldn’t help but have a bit of fun with the boy. He turned away from the mirror and went to see that Credence took a shower before he called Gwendoline to start breakfast. 

Percival’s door had been quiet all night, but Gellert could still feel his mind within and knew he didn’t have to worry the man had escaped. Percival hadn’t been able to sleep much, he would have been able to guess that from the start, but what really brought a smile to his face was the way the man felt so unsettled not being able to hear anything from the outside. Gellert knew very well Percival would have been more unsettled had he been able to last night. 

He found the door to the toilet shut and the sounds of the bath running, and went to see that breakfast was tended to. 

Credence emerged a short while later, dressed and clean and still looking more nervous than he had since his first few days in the flat. He glanced at Gwendoline working in the kitchen without his usual concern, and Gellert noted that he must be very distracted indeed. 

“Sit down. Have some tea. When breakfast is ready, bring me a plate, and then you can return and have your own.” Gellert rose from the table and Credence’s brows furrowed, catching on to where he would be going. Credence didn’t protest though. He nodded as Gellert passed and, comfortingly, Gellert reached out to stroke the back of the boy’s head before he headed down the hall. 

Credence’s thoughts worried after him all the way to Percival’s door. 

Gellert rapped his knuckles over it twice before he turned the handle, deciding a certain amount of manners wouldn’t be amiss. What he found when he opened the door was much what he’d expected: Percival, sitting cross legged on his bed, the sheets a mess, one of the pillows on the floor, the table by the couch overturned, and marks against two of the four walls where he could reach. Percival had tried to test the very foundations of the building to determine how thorough the hold on him was. It wouldn’t have helped, not with the shackles around his wrists still, and Percival knew as much. But he’d still tried. 

He stared at Gellert, dark circles under his eyes and his jaw set, waiting for him to speak. 

Gellert merely cocked his head and raised a single brow. “Dear me, Percy. It looks like you’ve had a rough night.” The man’s eyes narrowed, Gellert’s mock concern wearing thin on him already, so Gellert shrugged and let himself in. “You’ll remember soon enough how futile it is to free yourself from my little prison. Don’t feel so bad.” Gellert righted the table with a wave of his hand and sat against the back of the couch. It was just far enough away to give Percival a decent amount of space. And it put him within the range of the chains, which didn’t escape Percival’s notice, but he knew Gellert was listening, too, and so he did nothing. Gellert only smiled. 

“So. How long are you keeping me here this time?” Percival finally asked, his voice quiet and a little rougher than Gellert had been expecting. The man had not oriented himself to the situation yet, that was clear enough. He wasn’t moving now. His hands rested in his lap, clenched, and his shoulders were tight with tension, but his head was down and, defiantly, he did not look directly at Gellert when he spoke. As if that would get in the way of his legilimency, but Gellert supposed it was more on principle than pragmatism. 

He pretended to think about it. “We’ll have to see, I suppose. These things don’t always work out as neatly as they did the last time. And you _are_ now aware of a certain obscurial’s demise being not so very permanent. That’s not exactly information I can just let you leave with.” Gellert offered him a small smile for comfort, but Percival took none. Instead the man’s stomach sank and his irritation grew. “But you were getting in my way, Percy. And I simply couldn’t have that.”

“How long were you planning this, then?” Percival asked, his voice still grinding out the words. “From the moment you let me go? It didn’t sound like getting caught was part of the plan. _Did_ you even mean to let me go?” His eyes flashed up to lock with Gellert’s, and finally, Gellert could see the fight in him rather than just signs of it. 

Gellert’s mouth spread wider. “I had no reason to keep you. You wouldn’t turn for me, but you hadn’t managed to get hold of anything that put my work in jeopardy, either.” He did his best to look pleasant. “It wasn’t until you showed interest in _me_ , I’m afraid, that I realised that may have been a mistake. I was the one who wrote that letter to MACUSA, on behalf of one of the French politicians who’d come down with the flu that week. It left him somewhat befuddled, but he was so very glad he did invite you in the end. He would have never thought MACUSA would accept the offer in the first place. And now you’ve made such an image to rally behind, haven’t you? The _triumph_ of MACUSA, rising from near insurmountable setbacks to claim victory at the end of the day. How _inspiring_.” Gellert tossed his head in an arrogant fashion, but he didn’t miss the angry wince in Percival’s face, or his mind. It drew him away from the couch and up to Percival’s bed, sitting down at the side with one knee up like they were about to share a secret. “But you don’t believe a word of it, do you? You know better now than anyone just how little MACUSA really knows what they’re doing, especially in regards to me.” 

A clatter came from the doorway, followed by quiet footsteps, and both looked up to see the small figure of Credence peering in through the open doorway. In his hands was a plate too large for him, filled with pancakes, ham, and orange slices. The boy looked like he was about to start trembling at any moment, but the intensity of the expression on Gellert’s face melted into delight at the sight of him. 

“Come in, Credence, and thank you,” he said, kindly. “You can leave that on the table here for our Mr. Graves when he’s hungry. I imagine he will be soon.” Surreptitiously, Gellert glanced back at the man and saw that his focus had immediately gone to Credence and fixed there. 

It made the boy nervous as he approached, but Credence managed to keep the plate and silverware steady enough to set it on the table. He bit his lip and glanced at Percival for a split second before he stepped back again, obviously uncomfortable and unsure what to do with the man’s presence. It wasn’t just that Percival was the man with the face Credence had grown so attached to, it was that he was effectively their prisoner here. Even more so than Credence had been when Gellert first brought him to the flat. Credence didn’t like being a jailer, and Gellert was going to have to keep that in mind. 

“Very good. You can wait for me at the table.” He kept his voice soft and gave Credence the opportunity he needed to leave. 

For a split second the boy looked relieved, but then schooled his features, obviously second guessing his own feelings on the matter. He would not, however, look back up at Percival, even as the man stared at him. Gellert could feel the man’s mind prickling with questions. He wanted desperately to say something to Credence. His lips even parted to do it, but the moment Credence caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, the boy turned and fled the room. 

Percival closed his mouth, disappointment thick in the air around him. 

“Don’t take it so hard,” Gellert offered. “He takes time to warm up to people. He’ll come around.” 

Percival’s eyes moved back to him, and this time he wasn’t attempting to flay Gellert alive with his gaze, but the wariness hadn’t receded. “You made him a _child_?” Percival asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper so there was absolutely no chance of Credence overhearing. There was a hint of accusation there, but Gellert got the impression not even Percival could pinpoint precisely what he was accusing Gellert of. His heavy brows furrowed, always so expressive. “Does he remember?”

Gellert raised his own brows as though the question surprised him. As though anyone should think he might have taken the boy’s memories away from him. “Of course he remembers. Do you think I’d have any reason to lie to him at this point? After what MACUSA did to him…,” Gellert shook his head, “well, they did all the work for me.” 

Percival scowled. “What did you _do_?”

“I saved his life.” The counter caught Percival off guard. Gellert could see it in the twitch of his eye and feel it in the immediate cessation of his thoughts before Percival tried to put the pieces together based on what he’d read. “MACUSA thought they’d destroyed him,” Gellert went on, “but they hadn’t. Although not much of him remained, as you can see, barely a wisp of what he’d once been, and when I attempted to return him to his corporeal form…well.” Gellert shrugged, knowing he didn’t look at all contrite over it. 

The look Percival gave him was indecipherable with drawn brows and a crooked, resentful quirk to his mouth, but Gellert only smiled. 

“You don’t think he looks just as pleasing?” Gellert asked and Percival’s face immediately shuttered. 

“I hate to be so crude, but _fuck you_.” Already Percival’s mind was clouding over, obfuscating the last week as best he could. It was almost amusing how much the attempt showed in Percival’s face as well. Gellert had no doubt the man would have had a skilled poker face to anyone but him, after what Percival had been through. His occlumency did its best to hold Gellert back, but it was little use.

Gellert pretended to pout. “There’s no need to be _offended_ , Percy. I understand very well why you carry that photograph from his file, and believe me, it’s more than just guilt.” He grinned when Percival scowled. “Admit it, you noticed how pretty he is.” 

“I’d rather be locked in here without breakfast, thanks,” Percival sneered back, mocking Gellert’s enjoyment of the situation. 

Gellert only shrugged and with a casual wave of his hand the subject was dropped. “No need to be ungrateful, either.” He knew very well Percival wouldn’t relent even if he did take away the man’s plate. “I’m going to make you useful while you’re here, however.” Gellert pushed off the bed and Percival visibly tensed. He was not in a good position to spring, but even if he was, Gellert would easily be able to overpower him with magic, so he ignored the reaction. “You might not appreciate it,” he said, stealing a slice of bacon from the plate at the table and slipping it between his teeth, “but no one stays here for free.” 

Percival watched him eat with a muscle in his jaw twitching, doing his very best to restrain himself from the worst of the insults he wanted to fling back at Gellert for that, like this was some kind of vacation, but he managed. 

With that, Gellert left the man to his meal. 

When he joined Credence in the kitchen, he found the boy had waited for him before he began eating. Gwendoline had helpfully cast a warming charm over the two plates on the table, and Credence sat silently but expectantly in the chair that was quickly becoming his. The boy looked up the moment he caught sight of Gellert, but waited for him to speak first. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Gellert drew out the chair opposite and settled in, releasing the charm and collecting his silverware. “But that was very considerate of you, all the same.” He offered Credence a smile that the boy only half-heartedly tried to return. 

“Is he upset?” Credence asked, only managing to wait until Gellert had sliced into his pancakes. Credence was usually better at keeping his questions to himself, but Gellert could feel how the man in the other room made him worry. 

“Only with me,” Gellert reassured him, raising a syrupy bite to his mouth and watching Credence all the while. The boy glanced up because of Gellert’s gaze alone, but quickly glanced back down once he realised the man was only testing him, seeing if Credence would watch him eat. A smile drew across Gellert’s face nevertheless. It was beginning to amaze him how much Credence caught onto the little games he played, and yet the boy could still be reeled in with only a little effort. “I need to step out for a while. Tend to some things. I haven’t told him he’ll be here alone with you, but I imagine he’ll catch on when you go to collect the plate.” 

Credence looked up at that, worry clear in his face. “You want me to do that alone…?” 

Gellert had forgotten how meek Credence could sound. “Yes, I want you to do that alone. I want you to be polite with our new guest and I want you to offer him whatever he’d like to eat or drink while I’m gone. Do you think you can do that?” 

Credence looked somewhat chastised, but he nodded quickly, not wanting to seem as uncertain as he felt. Gellert reached across the table and squeezed Credence’s fist in his hand, where it had been clenching without the boy’s notice. “What should I say if he asks about you? Or about me?” Credence swallowed, but met Gellert’s eyes. 

“Whatever you like,” was the easy response. “He won’t be leaving for some time.” With one last squeeze, Gellert let go and whisked their empty plates away to the kitchen before he stood. 

Credence, however, seemed to be having trouble. He sat still, but he was staring at where his fingers were picking at the tablecloth and biting his lower lip. When Gellert paused, Credence glanced up with furrowed brows and his fidgeting stopped. He seemed to want very desperately to get up and go to Gellert, but he feared initiating such a thing. 

Gellert frowned and glanced into his mind, only to be bombarded with fears and insecurities of all sorts. Fears that Credence would do something wrong and that Graves would escape. Fears that Gellert would be upset if he _actually_ talked to the man. Fears that Graves himself would be angry with Credence and accuse him of participating in his capture. Credence didn’t want to hurt the man, but he didn’t want to go against Gellert’s wishes either. 

With a small sigh, Gellert turned back to the table and held one arm out for the boy. 

Immediately, Credence shot up from his seat and went to him, winding his thin arms around Gellert’s middle and letting himself be enfolded in a tight grasp. 

“You’re going to be ok while I’m gone,” Gellert said in his most patient tone. “There is nothing you can do to break his bonds, and there is nothing you can say to him that would upset me. Not unless you deliberately denounced all loyalty and affection you have for me at all.” He offered Credence a small smile when the boy looked up. “He can’t use magic on you while wearing those chains. You _will_ be safe, Credence.” 

“I’m sorry.” Credence buried his face in Gellert’s waistcoat. Those words were an old and familiar phrase to him, almost a mantra. Credence always had something to be sorry for, and right then, it was for not thinking he would be strong enough. 

Gellert’s fingers ran through the back of his hair, brushing up and down against the short strands. “You don’t have to be. You’ll learn in time. You’ll get better in time.” 

“What if I don’t?” Credence asked, not moving. This had been a constant question with his magic, too. Over and over again he tried to work with his wand at Gellert’s instruction, but all he got for his efforts was more black sludge and his hopes sinking further into the pit of his stomach.

Gellert sighed, but kept it soft. “Then you’ll just have to manage as you are.” He believed he could navigate Credence’s emotional issues well enough, even in regards to the boy’s fears of abandonment, but he would not admit there was yet the lingering question of whether Credence would ever regain the power he’d once held. “You’ve made it this far.” 

Gellert encouraged Credence to lift his head and look at him again. His imploring look prompted Credence to nod, even if the boy felt like he’d been barely surviving until this point in his life. Slowly, Credence regained enough composure to loosen his grip around Gellert’s middle and allow a margin of space between them. 

“That’s better.” Gellert stroked his cheek. “Remember what I said. Be polite and you need not worry of doing anything wrong, and if you do begin to worry again, think back on my words.” 

Credence nodded again, a little more vigorously that time. “Okay. I can do that.” If he didn’t have to rely on himself for guidance, he could do it, and Gellert was good at providing guidance.

He squeezed Credence’s small shoulders in his hands as the boy visibly composed himself. Feeling it in his mind was just as strange to watch. Credence covered the raw parts with nothingness, or with Gellert’s words. They were like a raft in a sea of his own thoughts he’d been swimming in relentlessly, constantly trying to pull him under. Gellert knew such a tactic wouldn’t solve the fears the boy had, but as it was, there was no fighting against an ocean that deep. Tuning out was the best Credence could manage, Gellert supposed. His mind went to the boy’s magic, wondering how much it was entwined with the obscurus and how much it was hampered more directly by the boy’s own mind. It all began with Credence’s mind, but once suppressed and then fractured for that long, cause and effect began to blur. 

So Gellert cupped the boy’s cheek and leaned down for a kiss. “Be good while I’m gone,” he said, knowing every scant instruction he gave Credence would be another for him to hold onto. “I have something I’d like to show you soon. Something from the place behind the bridge that might help. I think you might be ready to test it.” 

Credence’s mind echoed wariness to get his hopes up, but it was difficult for him not to. “I’d like to try,” he said, a bit weakly, and Gellert smiled. 

“Good.” He straightened. “I’ll be gone for a while. Remember, if you need to make lunch, ask Gwendoline for help, and offer our guest something to eat as well.” 

“Ok. I understand.” Credence straightened up as best he could, emulating Gellert even though he was far too short for the motion to hold the same amount of dignity. “I’ll look forward to seeing you back.” 

Gellert laughed softly. “No need to be so formal, Credence.” He brushed the boy’s chin and then headed for the door, Credence trailing behind him while he donned his winter clothes. He did not shift into the likeness of Graves this time, not when the man was missing and his photograph was bound to be in the papers by now. 

He waited until he’d given Credence one last goodbye and closed the door behind himself, not wanting to startle the boy with a new face.


	10. Chapter 10

Gellert let grey hair and the rough stubble of an unkempt beard cover his face. He transfigured his clothes into something shabbier before he headed down the stairs of the flat and out into the street. Berlin woke early, and even though it was still morning the streets were buzzing with cars and pedestrians. Women in furs passed on their way to the museum several streets down. A deli shop owner was changing his sign in preparation for the lunch crowd. The wizarding streets of the city were well away from the flat he’d chosen to keep his two guests, but he always did find a certain satisfaction with hiding in plain sight. 

He hailed a muggle cab that took him to the opposite side of the city. His destination was a hall not far from the hidden streets the wizards kept, but run by muggles nevertheless. Gellert found navigating the muggle world to be unfathomably useful when avoiding the wizarding one. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone with how ardently they were kept separate, even in Berlin. 

He thanked the driver in the wheezing, craggy voice he’d chosen for this disguise—an old muggle man who smelled faintly of tar, likely from working the roads—paid in coin, and hurried across the street to the hall. 

Once out of the cold, the inside was filled with lingering smoke and only a few patrons this early in the morning. Gellert appreciated that the owners kept the hours they did, and so the mysterious society that rented out the downstairs of the building never failed in making generous donations to the establishment. All Gellert had had to do was assure the owners they had no affiliations with the rising fascists within the city, which was not difficult since very few of the disguised wizards who entered carried the air of muggles of any particular demographic. More or less, the regular patrons simply considered them an odd bunch. Gellert had caught several of them wondering whether they were an underground branch of the communists, or perhaps even artists. 

He wore a new face today, however, and tipped the hat he’d conjured to the barkeep and offered the man a coin, the customary payment each of his followers gave the muggles before moving along to the back. The barkeep had been instructed not to allow anyone entry who did not follow this custom. It was a negligible measure of security, because they cast plenty of concealment charms over the basement while they were down there, but it did keep the muggles from wandering too close. 

The man accepted his payment with a nod and that was that. Gellert strode around to the back, beyond the kitchen and the meeting rooms to the door at the very end. It deposited him into a dank air and an old, wooden staircase that was still sturdy enough for its age. He’d passed through the wards without a whisper of alarm, but once he’d descended, all heads in the room still turned up to him and wary hands twitched towards their wands. 

Gellert merely smiled before he removed his hat and let the disguise drop from his features. A collective sigh of relief followed through the room. He counted heads, nine in total, which was all of them. Although they were relieved he was not an intruder, their backs remained stiff now that he’d joined their ranks. 

“What have you got for me since last night, Thaddeus?” He approached the table and stood at its head, drawing the tips of his fingers over the wood for a moment before he raised his eyes to the tall, bearded man sitting in the chair to his right. Thaddeus Katsaros was the first officer of the Berlin chapter of his followers, and therefore, one of Gellert’s top men. He was capable and he was driven, and very importantly, people followed him. With a deep voice and dark, wild hair, he projected the sort of stark, masculine confidence that was easy to follow, and it helped when Gellert himself was not there to provide instruction. 

Thaddeus lifted a newspaper at his side and handed it to Gellert. “Unsurprisingly, we’ve made headlines.” 

Across the top in bold lettering read “MACUSA DIRECTOR GONE ROGUE” above a subheading proclaiming “TRAITOR? MURDERER? DIRECTOR PERCIVAL GRAVES MISSING AND WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN DEATH OF SCHOLAR”. Gellert could not help a smile. The article went on to detail the events of the night prior as described by witnesses who had seen the three of them together and overheard bits of their conversation. The reporter theorised whether Graves had been confronted by two political scholars on his loyalties to wizarding society and an argument had occurred in private, leaving one dead, the other missing, identity uncertain, and Graves himself disappeared, speculated to be on the run for murder. 

“Very good. Very good indeed.” Gellert dropped the paper back to the table and looked up to the room. “I want our press contacts following up on this story. I want as many people as we can doing op-eds in favour of the Director betraying MACUSA and speculating whether he’s become one of our supporters. I want speculation on whether he always was.” 

One of the secretaries pulled out his notepad and began writing. Everyone in the room gave a chorus of “Yes, sir!”. 

Satisfied, Grindelwald moved on. “I want as many muggleborns as we can use talking about the destruction of the Second Salem church in New York in public muggle spaces. I want you to create sympathy for the church. Disguise yourselves as you see fit, and _do not_ get caught. The more we can take advantage of the hysteria, the better. Work with whatever muggle parties you can—conservative, fascist, liberal, communist, all of them. They have their own troubles brewing and we’ve got competition to get them talking about wizards and witches.” 

Heads began nodding around the table. They had been leading up to this stage for a while now. Gellert’s attacks on various wizarding institutions, both to acquire powerful magical artefacts for their own use and to destabilise those who opposed him, had been gaining steam already. Now they needed a reaction from the muggles. 

“How far do we want to spread sympathy for the Second Salemers?” One witch in green raised her head. Her mind held a pinprick of apprehension. “If muggles get on this track, we’ll surely encounter a growing number of wizards who feel the same.” That had been a concern for many of them. How to spread the fire and also control it. 

“I’m sure we will. But we’re all selfish creatures when it comes down to it. Self-hating wizards won’t last long in this fight, nor will they be the majority. This isn’t going to be easy. Wizarding lives will be lost.” Gellert looked to the rest of the table, into the eyes of each, testing their thoughts. Not many of them knew he didn’t necessarily need eye contact for legilimency. Most, like he was, were ready to see the fire spread no matter where it burned. “But only from ashes can a phoenix rise anew. And the institutions existing today cannot survive in any form.”

The table erupted in another round of agreement. 

“We have word of wizard civilians organising against us here in Berlin, and in these cities across the neighbouring countries,” Thaddeus spoke up, handing a sheet of parchment across the table. “These are the cities where our followers are scarce and our opposition is strong. As far as we can tell, they still assume they have Berlin.” 

Gellert nodded, looking over the list. “Then let’s see if we can stir up the muggles in each without their notice. We don’t want to be accused of goading the muggles ourselves, after all. And it’ll be interesting to see how these wizards pacify their opposition when that opposition isn’t other wizards. Who knows, they might even allow themselves to be driven out all on their own.” Someone at the end of the table laughed at that. 

“There’s been riots between the muggle factions within this city in the past month or so, and there may be more to come soon,” another woman spoke up. “If they’re too busy fighting themselves, will our work even be noticed?” 

Gellert shrugged. “If they want to destroy each other, let them. They’ll find ways to work the rumours of witches and wizards among them into their own political agendas. Either way, their in-fighting can only work to our advantage. We must only be sure that whichever side becomes the victor, we can destroy in the end. Muggles’ strength comes in numbers and their relentless machines. Division is the best method to overthrow their power.” 

The woman, Arrabella Sinclair, who ran communications between the factions of Gellert’s network but had little experience with muggles herself, nodded readily. 

“Now,” he turned to the group, “do we have any new leads on magical artefacts that can be put to use for a good cause?” 

“A couple.” It was Thaddeus who spoke again, and he nodded to an older wizard across the table. The man was notorious for his connections with pureblood families. 

“In Leipzig and Prague. I have word that there may be a goblin-made sword recently passed on to the Katz family in Leipzig, and in Prague there’s been talk of hiding what may be an early pensieve with possible links to Alexander’s rule in Macedonia. If there are any remaining memories, they have not yet been unlocked.” 

Gellert raised an eyebrow, thumbing an errant knot in the wood of the table before meeting the man’s eyes. “Tell me about Prague.”

The meeting lasted an hour more at least. Gellert emphasised their resources must be used wisely. This was a time to shore up what they could, in power as well as numbers. Recruiting efforts would double. They wanted common folk as well as people in positions of power, and they wanted any charmed or cursed objects that may benefit their cause. In the meantime, they would be reigning in their attacks on the opposition, at least any attacks that could be traced back to them, so that the tensions between muggles could rise. 

His officers weren’t reluctant to offer their own ideas or ask questions, he encouraged it of them since they understood well enough by now that anyone who challenged him for real power didn’t last long enough to become a nuisance, and their plans began to lay out smoothly. 

He had more than one city to visit that night, however, and he knew he would not be returning to Credence and their new guest until very late. Graves’ acquisition gave him more work to do, but he thought it would be worth it in the end.

* * *

Credence waited as long as he could before he went to see Mr. Graves. 

Morning had been quiet, as mornings often were in the flat when Gellert shut himself away in the study or left to places Credence couldn’t follow, but there was a sense of unease over every room now. 

He’d tried to take out his books to study at first, but found he couldn’t concentrate. Then he tried to find books to read just for the enjoyment of it, but even still he had trouble not looking up ever quarter hour or so, his thoughts being pulled jarringly back to the present and not being alone in the flat. 

The man had kept silent though, and Credence was grateful. He began to hope that Mr. Graves would stay silent all day, and then he would not have to speak to the man because Gellert had only instructed him to bring Mr. Graves things if he asked for them specifically. Credence hadn’t forgotten about the breakfast plate, but that was…not as important, he hoped. 

Around noon he was beginning to grow restless. More restless than he’d been in a while, and he often found himself in such a state over the past week. At first it had been difficult not to be afraid of every sound. Every creak in the building made Credence think Gellert was on the other side of the door, about to return home and find that Credence had been lazy with his books, even if Credence did try very hard to keep at the reading. His days used to consist of wandering the streets of New York, trying to draw crowds to his mother’s church, or organising the children for lunch and dinner services, or planning locations for the next lecture, all very clear objectives. 

Now…he simply didn’t know what to do most of the time to keep his host happy. But Gellert rarely seemed displeased with him, even when Credence thought he could be making himself more useful, or at least be learning magic better. It was the only real objective Gellert had given him, and he wasn’t doing well with it at all. If it wasn’t for the man’s affection for him, his touches and the way he asked Credence to do things with him, Credence would fear he really was a burden. But Credence liked those touches, and he liked doing those things with Gellert, in spite of everything he knew he should not want, and he could still hardly believe that the man had changed his mind about him. 

In truth, Credence didn’t know how to take the addition of the real Mr. Graves in the flat. Or in his life. At all. He was only just beginning to navigate things between himself and the first Mr. Graves he’d known, and Gellert didn’t seem very concerned about him being too friendly or what he might accidentally reveal. Of course, there could be the obvious conclusion to such lack of regard for what the man knew or didn’t know—that Gellert planned to kill Mr. Graves once he’d gotten whatever he wanted out of him. 

Credence didn’t think it was beyond the realm of possibility. Even if Gellert had told him the man would be staying. Still, it seemed strange to him that they were shut up in a flat in the city, with people and even other wizards moving about their daily lives all around them. He had no idea things like this happened within such normal environments. From the horror stories the children he’d known liked to tell each other and the newspapers in New York, Credence had always imagined kidnappings and murders took place in dark alleys and the basements and dungeons of criminal establishments. 

He didn’t really think of Gellert as a criminal though. He knew the man was considered so by the people in charge in America and the people in charge in Europe, but…he didn’t act like a criminal. At least not the kind of criminals that Credence knew of, mean with greasy hair and nice suits, but dirty smiles, leering at the women who passed their way. They stood at the doors of boarded up buildings where if one listened carefully and passed by closely, one could hear the faint sound of music below. 

Credence had stayed away from those people as best he could. They didn’t like him and he didn’t like them, and they were nothing at all like Gellert. Gellert talked about wanting more from the very start of all this. That was one thing that remained consistent; he’d always talked about wanting better lives for everyone, including Credence. It was hard not to let the niggling reminders of being let down by Mr. Graves so coldly at the end of that back into his thoughts. It made him worry sometimes, usually when Gellert was gone and he was in the flat alone, but he had to admit it was still consistent with the man’s motivations. If Credence wasn’t useful to his cause, then Credence would have been left behind, so he doubted Gellert was lying about his motives for the things he did. 

He spent a long time thinking about it that afternoon, and how all that had brought them a new ‘guest’. Credence knew he still didn’t really know what Gellert was doing every day when he went out. He only heard about the big picture, that Gellert was leading an uprising against the wizarding governments that had grown deaf to criticism and steeped in bureaucracy, for the benefit of their people, even the no-majs. But Credence knew it couldn’t be as simple as that, either. He’d heard a lot about war, and though he’d never experienced anything like it himself, from the stories he heard, he knew it was something he’d very much like to avoid. 

When the late sun finally began to descend and afternoon turned into evening, he finally heard signs of life from Mr. Graves’ room. Knocking, to be precise. Pounding, to be even more precise. 

It made him flinch and avoid the hall at first. He planted himself far away at the dining table, as far as he could go without having to cower in the kitchen, but he could still hear it, faintly, with everything else in the flat so quiet. 

When the man began to shout, faint as it was, Credence could ignore it no longer. 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and gathered himself as best he could before going to the hallway. It was dark now with the sun going down and the electric lamps on the walls oft. Even though a soft orange light from the window was cast over the living room, it didn’t quite penetrate the hall. The cracks beneath the doors were dark, even the one that had been left unusually thin next to Graves’ door, all except for the door with the sounds coming from behind it. It was at the very end of the hall, and Credence could see two clearly defined shadows of shoes standing behind the crack, blocking the light. 

The man was shouting for Gellert. Or rather, Grindelwald, he called him, just like Credence had at first. It was interspersed every now and then with another pounding of fists against the wood. 

Credence crept closer, trying to keep himself moving forward. He didn’t like the pounding, but most of all he didn’t like how loud Mr. Graves’ voice was. It set off an instinct of fear inside him that he hadn’t known he’d had, not when he’d lived with Mary Lou and her cold, quiet rages for so long. Every time the man bellowed Grindelwald’s name from behind the door, Credence caught himself in a flinch, but still he kept moving forward. 

Once he neared enough to the door, he didn’t know what to do. He really couldn’t just _open it_ , not with Mr. Graves so angry on the other side. He couldn’t bring himself to face the man like that. He didn’t think he could bring himself to shout back, either. He wasn’t like Gellert. 

But the pounding began to slow, and Mr. Graves’ shouts began to lessen in volume in the long minutes Credence stood there, until finally there was a pause, and if Credence listened very carefully, he could hear breathing on the other side.

He drew a little closer, and gathered his courage as much as he could. His shoulders were back up to his ears and he tried not to focus on the door itself, or imagine the man behind it. “Mr. Graves?” He feared he’d pitched his voice too softly. “Are you ok?” he tried louder that time. 

To his surprise, there was silence on the other side. But he could still see the shadow of Mr. Graves’ legs in the doorway, so Credence knew he hadn’t moved. It crossed his mind that maybe the magic Gellert had used to soundproof the room was so strong that the man couldn’t hear him even when he was this close. But then he heard something soft thunk against the door. He couldn’t help a slight flinch. 

“Credence?” Mr. Graves sounded startled to hear him, but at least his tone lost all trace of anger. “Is that you?” 

It helped Credence gather the courage to respond more readily. “Yes, Mr. Graves. I’m here. Do you…,” Credence trailed off, not used to playing host. Or captor. The thought of it made his insides twist. “Do you need anything?”

There was a short pause. “Is Grindelwald there?” Graves asked, his voice softer now. And much kinder. It made Credence’s stomach lurch with hope that the man wasn’t angry with him. 

“No. It’s just me. And Gwendoline, but she’s not here very often. She’s a house elf.” Credence assumed Mr. Graves would understand the way Grindelwald had told him house elves were with wizards, and he didn’t know whether it was polite or impolite to mention her. He shifted, knowing she wasn’t there right now and even if she was, she would probably not give him advice on how to deal with the situation. Her advice mostly consisted of ‘do as Mr. Grindelwald says and everything will be well’. 

“Are you ok, Credence? Has he hurt you?” Mr. Graves asked and Credence felt his stomach drop and his cheeks heat. He heard the sound of chains clanking and knew Mr. Graves was trying to get as close as he could to the door. The man sounded honestly worried. 

“He hasn’t hurt me. I’m ok.” It was the truth, although Credence was a little ashamed at how ‘ok’ he had really let things become with the other man. The man who had kidnapped Mr. Graves, not once but twice now Credence assumed, and had taken his face and position within the place he worked. “Are…you ok?” Credence drew nearer to the door. If he got any closer, he’d be pressing his forehead against it. 

“So far, yes.” Mr. Graves sounded like he was taking stock of things now that he knew Credence was there. “Can you reach the door? Is it open from your side? If he locked it, there might be a key kept somewhere in the flat. I didn’t see him cast a spell the last time he used it, but I didn’t hear him lock it either. Could you check for me, Credence?” 

The man sounded so hopeful and so nervous Credence couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. More sorry than he already was. He laid his hand on the door knob and, after a breath, turned it to push open the door. 

Credence lifted his eyes to the man who stood inside, tall and dark haired with a day’s worth of stubble and brows drawn up with an expression of startled surprise. His chains had been just too short to reach the door and try it. 

Credence swallowed. “It was open.” 

Nervous brown eyes went from him to the door and back again. “I see that….” Mr. Graves slowly lowered his cuffed hands and Credence couldn’t help but watch them. The man’s whole body was still strung taut. It was a minor gesture of trying to relax. “He’s put wards on the flat, I assume?” Graves’ eyes were so desperately imploring that all Credence could do was nod. “How long have you been kept here?”

Credence lifted one shoulder and dropped his gaze. “A little over a week?” He thought that was how long it had been, although he hadn’t really been keeping a calendar and the only one he’d glimpsed was in Gellert’s study. The first several days he’d kept track well enough, but then…. He’d started to let it slip, he supposed. 

Mr. Graves nodded like he understood. The man rubbed his chin and cast his eyes down the hall behind Credence, clearly thinking. “Can you feel anything when you get too close to the windows, or when you try to open the door? Does anything happen? With my magic suppressed like this I can’t check the wards,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves. …I haven’t checked.” Credence just lowered his head. “He said the wards are to keep people away, not to keep me in.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Credence saw the way the man’s attention went straight back to him and fixed there in surprise. His shoulders began to hunch with the weight of it, guessing what Mr. Graves was thinking of him. 

“You can leave?” Mr. Graves breathed. “Credence, _you can leave?_ ” He tried to duck down to catch Credence’s eyes, but Credence wouldn’t meet them. He didn’t want to see hope in such a familiar face. But Mr. Graves kept trying. To Credence’s quiet horror, he even got down on first one knee, and then the other in his effort to bring himself to Credence’s level. “Can you go out now? Can you find someone? Anyone. Do you know where the wizarding streets are?” 

Credence took a step back, he wanted to hide, and Graves lurched forward, but his wrists brought him up short. 

“Credence, _please_. Whatever he’s told you, this man is not a good person. He’s not going to help you. He just wants to use you and the power you have.” Mr. Graves was starting to sound desperate. “Do you understand?” 

Credence shook his head, although he did understand. He understood why Mr. Graves was saying what he was and why he feared being kept here. Credence even understood why the man was trying to tell him he was being used. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves. I can’t.” 

Stepping away was the hardest thing he’d done in a long time. 

“Credence!” Graves called after him, leaning on the end of his chains and pulling, yanking them again and again from where they were fastened underneath the bed somewhere. “Credence, wait!”

Credence didn’t think to close the door in his hurry to get away, but he regretted it when he was back out in the living room, although he knew he would have also regretted it had he shut it in the man’s face. Mr. Graves didn’t deserve that. Mr. Graves didn’t deserve to be locked up here, either, but…. Credence didn’t want to go against Gellert’s wishes. 

He curled himself back up on the couch and tried to ignore the calls from Graves’ room. The man could be heard perfectly well now, but he wasn’t shouting like he’d done before. He’d quieted as though he didn’t want to frighten Credence, but he was still trying to talk to him. 

Credence covered his ears with a pillow until, eventually, Graves went silent. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed after that. Mostly, he just tried not to make a sound. Graves knew he was there, but if Credence didn’t do anything to remind him, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. So he stayed on the couch, letting the time slip by. He tried laying down and thought maybe he could fall asleep, but he couldn’t. His mind felt too rooted in the present and too heavy with worry. And he really was worried about Mr. Graves. With the way Gellert had talked, Credence didn’t know whether he’d be alive for long. He’d suggested Graves would be staying with them for some time, but…hadn’t sounded very optimistic about the man leaving again, and Credence knew what that could mean. 

Credence drew himself back into a ball in the corner of the couch. He didn’t want the man to die, but he also didn’t want to _care_. It was too hard, caring about a person. He’d cared about Modesty and that had been incredibly difficult. He’d cared about Mr. Graves when he was Gellert, and that hadn’t gone well at all, except that it had turned out better in the end, with him here now…. But Gellert didn’t seem to need someone to care about him, not in the way anyone Credence had ever known did. He asked to take care of Credence instead, and asked that Credence do what he said in return, and so far Credence was ok with that. 

He shivered when he thought about Mr. Graves, sitting on his knees and begging for Credence to come back. He bit his lip. Gellert had told him to see to Graves’ wishes as best he could, excluding attempts to set him free. Credence didn’t want to face him again, but he knew he should. He felt guilty enough running and hiding away like this. He began to think that maybe if he could just offer Graves something small, anything really, that might make him more comfortable, then that would be something. He could make himself face the man again. 

Credence sat up and on stiff legs and silent feet went to the kitchen. Graves hadn’t eaten in a while, but neither had he and he didn’t feel hungry. Graves hadn’t asked for anything either, at least not anything like that. So Credence climbed up on the counter to fetch a glass and pour some water. That would be something, he hoped. The man had been shouting, and he must be thirsty since breakfast. 

When Credence returned to the hall, he made sure his steps were just as silent. He didn’t dare go any faster than one tentative step after another, and tried to catch a glimpse of Graves through the open doorway. 

There was a light on in the room still, just as there had been before, but Credence didn’t catch sight of the man at first. His line of sight hit the bed, but there was no Mr. Graves there. The chain, however, led from underneath it across the room where Credence couldn’t see. Not yet. 

He stopped just outside the doorway, somehow fearful the man was lurking just around it, but Credence could clearly see the chain leading elsewhere. Tentatively, he knocked at the frame. Just twice, and light as ever, but it could have been heard through the whole flat with how silent it was. 

The silence that followed was heavy in the air, and then a man’s soft voice rose from the side of the room Credence couldn’t see. “Come in.” 

He held the glass steady in his hands and stepped forward, glancing around the door to find Mr. Graves not looking very threatening at all. He was sitting upon the couch, one leg curled under him and leaning against the armrest. He might even have looked relaxed if it weren’t for the tension in his face. Credence suspected he’d been wearing that expression for a while since he still had one hand to his temple and the other looked like it had just been moved. The mental image of him bent over with his head in his hands struck Credence with an unsettling amount of clarity. 

“I brought you some water.” He moved around the couch and set the glass on the small table beside it, still giving Mr. Graves a wide berth of space. 

The man just looked at it. Credence didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Graves seemed a little dazed, but then Credence supposed he had probably been the same way when he’d first thought himself to be a prisoner in the flat. 

Finally, the man looked up to him and Credence was caught with the stare of warm, brown eyes. “Thank you, Credence.” 

A shiver passed over Credence’s skin. He’d never heard Mr. Graves sound so grateful for anything before. It was a small kindness, barely one at all, even, since he’d been told to do more for Mr. Graves that he’d already failed to do, but the man sounded sincere. 

He reached out to take it, chains clinking softly against each other as he brought the glass back to himself and raised it to his lips. Credence watched as he drank. Graves had, apparently, been thirsty after all. His Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow and his attention left Credence completely to focus on the water, eyes falling half shut as the glass rose higher and higher. 

Graves didn’t put it down until it was nearly gone. It struck Credence why. “I can bring you more if you’re thirsty,” he hastened to tell the man. “I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. Or if you’re hungry. I can get you something to eat if you’d like. Or anything like that?” Now that he’d offered, Credence realised how stupid he’d been to avoid it. The man hopefully wasn’t starving since he’d eaten breakfast, but Credence should have asked sooner. The words were out now, and it shouldn’t have been that hard to ask in the first place. 

“It’s okay. Thank you. Just water is fine for now.” Graves gestured him calm with a hand, and it worked. Credence did feel a little more relieved. When Graves was done with the glass and shifting it back and forth between his hands, he looked back to Credence. “So he’s keeping you here on a longer leash, then, isn’t he?” He sounded so sincere, Credence couldn’t trace a note of spite in his tone. Which was unexpected. 

“I…I’m not being kept here.” Credence found it harder to say than he’d thought it would be. There hadn’t really been a transition between ‘being kept’ and ‘wanting to be here’, and he didn’t know how to explain that. “He hasn’t hurt me. It’s not like that. I thought he might at first, but it’s not,” he tried to explain even through the creeping suspicion that none of this should matter to Graves, who was in fact being kept prisoner here and who might have a far worse end coming than Credence did. His stomach twisted at the thought of trying to justify any of that by comparing it to how he was being treated. 

But Graves just nodded, appearing thoughtful. “I’m glad you’re ok. I read about you, after everything. I read about what they’d done to you, and was told as much as could be gleaned about what _he’d_ done to you.” The man looked uncomfortable, and his eyes moved just to the side of Credence, who wasn’t sure exactly what he could have heard or from whom about that, but he hoped it was nothing compared to what he’d really been doing lately with the man in question. “I want you to know that I’m sorry,” Graves continued, “that he lied to you with my face.” He leaned forward, now searching Credence’s face with a quiet desperation again. “You do know that he lied to you back there, right?” 

Slowly, Credence nodded. “I know. I know he did. But it’s…different now. He thought I couldn’t do magic,” and Credence swallowed down the guilt at that, because as far as he could see, he could only _barely_ do magic after all, “but he didn’t know I was…the one he was looking for. Not until I was upset.”

Graves’ eyebrows furrowed, making conclusions. “Your mother…. Tina told me what she did to you, the way she treated all her children, but you especially.” 

Credence looked away, ashamed to admit that wasn’t all that had upset him. By the time he’d killed Mary Lou, he’d still hoped that his Mr. Graves would take him away. This Graves sounded sympathetic, but Credence didn’t know what it would mean to the man that he’d killed someone. He had no point of reference for how wizards thought about murder, apart from Gellert. Credence also knew he’d killed more than once even though he could only vaguely remember it except for Mary Lou. 

“I just wanted to get away,” he admitted quietly. 

Graves nodded. “And he helped you.” He didn’t need to pose it as a question, but Credence nodded anyway. 

Credence wanted to say that he wasn’t just being used, that Gellert had helped him and he wanted to stay with the man now, that it was approaching a mutually beneficial relationship, but he knew how it would sound to Graves’ ears. He looked the man up and down and saw someone who was tired and nearly resigned. He knew Graves had been through something like this before, and had to wonder what the man was thinking now. Whether he was searching for an escape or whether he didn’t believe he’d ever get out again. Credence wasn’t sure which he’d prefer, himself, but also didn’t believe he had any say in the matter. 

“I’m sorry,” he thought to say, although it sounded somewhat hollow. Credence might feel sorry, but the man was still chained up in a spare bedroom and he wouldn’t go for help. 

To his surprise, however, Graves offered him a weak half-smile. “I appreciate the thought.” Once again, he sounded sincere. Credence had never seen the man with this face look so downtrodden before, but he wondered just how much his mannerisms Gellert had affected when he was pretending to be him. He wouldn’t have needed to affect much for Credence, since Credence had never known Graves, but that smile and the man’s seeming calm, in spite of the situation, were familiar. “Would you stay with me a while?” Graves interrupted his searching thoughts. “You sounded pretty quiet out there. There must not be much in a place like this for you to do while he’s away, is there?” 

The man was searching his face now just like Credence had been searching him, but Credence found he wasn’t as good at taking it. He ducked his head and tried to shrug. “I’m trying to learn magic. So I have a lot of reading to do during the day, and I can practise at night.”

Graves’ eyebrows rose. He looked interested, but Credence wasn’t sure if he should stay. Gellert had said very explicitly that it wouldn’t be a problem, but Credence didn’t know if he should let himself grow to like this man, even a little bit. He thought maybe he could come up with an excuse to leave, but Graves interrupted before he could speak. 

“Oh? And how’s that going?” The man even shifted on the couch, bringing his leg down, making more space for Credence, and looking genuinely interested. 

Credence wanted to look back to the door. He felt like his insides were squirming, but…the answer to Graves’ question brought him up short. He bit his lip and, tentatively, went to sit on the couch next to Mr. Graves, but kept a good deal of space between them. “Not so well actually,” he admitted. 

Graves’ expression turned from curious to questioning. “No? What’s he got you working on?” 

It was a very open ended question, one that started with a specific answer and naturally prompted more. Credence thumbed a button in the cushion of the couch. “The Standard Book of Spells mostly. And theory on the side.” He could feel the silence when he stopped. “It’s not that the spells are too hard, or at least he says he doesn’t think so, just that my magic isn’t…right.” The button snapped back into place under his finger when he pulled too hard and Credence flinched at the sting. He brought his thumb to his mouth and noticed Mr. Graves follow the movement, but the man’s expression was carefully concealed. When his eyes moved away, it turned to consideration. 

“You’re an obscurial,” Graves reminded him. “It might be more difficult for you after suppressing it for so long. It could be that your magic is still tied to the obscurus so much that it’s difficult to bring it out in another way.” 

“He thinks I can. But I don’t know. I’m not as strong as I used to be, but I’d never done any magic before besides the…,” Credence trailed off. Thinking back on some of the things he’d done wasn’t very pleasant. He moved his hands into his lap and kept them there. “But it goes wrong when I try to use real spells.” 

Graves nodded and pressed his hand under his chin. The man looked like he was relaxing a little more, Credence noted, leaning back on the armrest and using it to prop himself up. “If he thinks so, it might be possible. He wouldn’t be going through all this work with you if there wasn’t at least a chance.” 

Credence felt his own brows furrowing now. It seemed strange that it was Mr. Graves who was reassuring him while they sat there and not the other way around. Credence had far less to lose. “You think so?” he asked, wondering how long Graves would be content indulging him. 

The man gave a shrug. “He doesn’t do anything without a reason.” 

Credence let his gaze fall back to his hands, not sure whether that was meant to be reassuring or not. “You don’t seem very upset with me.” He didn’t look back to Graves. He couldn’t, but he also couldn’t keep that to himself any longer, either. As far as he could see, this man didn’t have any reason to be nice to him. Credence might not have done what Gellert had, but he was going along with it all the same. 

“I suppose not.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught Graves with a wry smile. “I don’t blame you, Credence, for any of this. I think he’s using you. I think he’s manipulating you, and maybe part of you knows that, or maybe you don’t think its true, but that’s what I think. I don’t think me being here is your fault. Or what happened to me back in the States. I think it’s his.” Graves stopped. For a moment Credence thought he might be expecting a reply, but then the man spoke again. “And my own.” 

Credence looked back to him again, too startled to be shy. 

Graves’ wry smile didn’t look much like a smile anymore, even though he tried to offer it to Credence. “I could have fought him better than I did. I could have made sure I wasn’t complacent in any of this. I could have known that he wasn’t just there to gather intelligence, and that what I saw wasn’t even half of what he’d been doing.” 

Credence realised what he was seeing in the man’s face now when Graves looked away and his mouth turned down and his eyes searched for anything to fix on except for Credence. He was sorry. He felt guilty. But Credence didn’t know why he should, especially when Credence thought he, himself, was the one who should be feeling so. He knew Mr. Graves had held an important position where he worked and that it was something to do with the security of the wizarding world, like a policeman, but really more like the chief of police, Credence thought, but that didn’t mean Graves could have done anything to help Credence if he was locked away like he was now. But he also seemed like a man who was used to being able to take care of things. Maybe he felt responsible when he couldn’t. 

“I don’t think you did anything wrong,” Credence offered quietly, unsure if it would help or just annoy the man. 

Graves shook his head. “Believe me, Credence, I have.” He was looking at Credence with a remorse Credence didn’t fully understand. “But I promise you, I’m not going to let myself do that again. I’m not going to let him do whatever he wants. And if I can, I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to get us _both_ out of here.” 

Credence frowned. Mr. Graves wasn’t going to understand his predicament. Even if he wanted to leave Gellert, he would have nowhere to go. Not like he was now, physically, and certainly not back to New York with the wizards there thinking they’d killed him. If they found out he was alive, he didn’t know what they’d do. For all he knew, he would end up just like Gellert—wanted and considered a criminal. 

“I don’t think I can go back.” Credence couldn’t look at the man anymore. He didn’t want to see such familiar eyes looking at him so sadly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I don’t think it would be that easy for me.” 

He made to slip off the couch, but Graves reached out and caught his arm, causing him to flinch and stop. 

“Credence, wait. I’m sorry. I should have thought about that.” The man’s hand turned gentle on his arm. It ran down the length of it until Graves was loosely holding Credence’s wrist, like he would let Credence pull away if he tried, but he didn’t want Credence to. “I know what happened to you before you left. I know you wouldn’t have anywhere to go. But, Credence, when I came here looking for Grindelwald, you were the one thing beyond my own selfish reasons for doing so. I mean that. I know you don’t know me, but _please_ believe me when I say I would do everything I can to see you safe.” 

Finally, Credence glanced up at the man, startled and uncertain why Graves would make such a promise to him. But he appeared to be earnest. Credence never thought he was a particularly good judge of character, or at least at discerning when people were telling the truth, but Graves looked so desperate to be believed that he couldn’t help but think it was real. 

The trouble was that Credence had no idea how to respond. He didn’t know if he could even accept such a promise. Gellert may have told him he could leave if he wanted to, if things didn’t work out after he gave it a chance, but Credence didn’t think he’d be allowed to leave with this man. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to. 

It must have showed on his face because Graves squeezed his wrist lightly and then let go. “I just…wanted you to know that.” He nodded, more like he was checking himself than assuring Credence, and once again, Credence was free. Graves sat back and let Credence have his personal space again. “Thank you for the water. If you want to come back and say hello again later, I wouldn’t mind.” 

Finally, Credence stood. “Okay. And you’re welcome. I’ll leave the door open. And I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything sooner. I’ll check back.” It was easier to be polite, to speak as though there was some formality between them. That was what Credence was used to with most people. Except his Mr. Graves. Which wasn’t this man, even if he looked like him. And even if he was kind. 

Credence went to the door, glancing back only briefly, before he slipped away and left Graves to his own thoughts. He hoped Gellert would return soon. Already he knew he would feel worse now if something bad happened to their guest, he knew it had been a bad idea to sit and talk with him and let the man have pity on him, but he just wanted to not think about it anymore. 

Credence spent the rest of the night hiding with his books and waiting for Mr. Graves to call on him again for some more food or water, but the call never came, and the man let him be.

* * *

It wasn’t until Percival awoke to the sound of the front door that he realised he’d been tired. Tired enough to fall asleep on the couch, apparently. It shouldn’t have surprised him though, not with the stress of the day and how little sleep he’d gotten the night prior. The hours in which Grindelwald was gone seemed like a haven, but now he heard the distinct thud of heavy shoes against the floor of the hall. It sounded like the man was putting away his coat. 

Frantically, Percival tried to get his bearings and appear as though he hadn’t just been woken. The little boy—Credence—was nowhere in sight, although he had expected as much. It was a strange instinct to feel as though he should have been keeping an eye on him when Credence was free to roam and he wasn’t, but Percival’s worries spiked all the same. Perhaps it was just that he didn’t know where the boy was in relation to Grindelwald. 

Not far, it seemed. He caught the muted sound of voices on the other side of the apartment, one of them definitely Grindelwald and the other quiet enough to be Credence. The damned man sounded pleased with himself. Percival couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but he could tell that much. Grindelwald was happy. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d been doing, it had gone well. 

There was the sound of something like shoes scraping against the floorboards and then a soft squeal from Credence, and then silence.

Percival sat up at that. Never mind that his chains clinked and he could surely be heard. He went to the door and looked down the hall, but all he could see was a new coat on the rack and the lights on in the kitchen and living room. It was so quiet he stopped breathing just to hear, and then the sound of Grindelwald chuckling met his ears. It didn’t relax him, not until the sound of Credence’s voice followed. 

The boy was alright. Whatever Grindelwald had done, Credence didn’t sound hurt, or upset. Percival hadn’t known the boy for long, but he had a hard time imagining Credence laughing. He couldn’t tell what the sharp cry he’d heard meant, but it wasn’t difficult imagining Grindelwald had done something to startle the boy, either by teasing him or frightening him. Percival didn’t think that was a particularly good idea with a child who was also an obscurial, but he found himself unsettled on principle just as much. 

He waited there until the heavy footsteps sounded again, this time coming closer until Grindelwald emerged from around the corner of the hall. He looked as haughty and as regal as ever, still in his waistcoat with shoulders back and a smirk on his face, one meant just for Percival. 

“I hope you haven’t been bored while I was away.” Grindelwald managed to sound unperturbed as he strolled up to Percival’s door and stepped inside like Percival hadn’t wanted to rip out his throat with his bare hands the night before. Grindelwald glanced around the room, taking in the empty plate from breakfast on the one table and the glass on the other. “You’ll join us for dinner, I hope. Wouldn’t want you going hungry, and I have some rather unfortunate news for you, I’m afraid.” 

Grindelwald took a step closer, eyes fixed on Percival, and he didn’t realise he’d taken a step back until the chains clanked and Grindelwald’s smile grew an inch wider. 

Percival grit his teeth and raised his hands in a show of defiance. “You’re gonna let me out then?”

Grindelwald merely drew closer, lifting his hands to Percival’s wrists and letting them glide over the bare flesh of his forearms to get to the cuffs. It was a wholly unnecessary motion, and Percival grimaced. 

“Has your temper improved?” Grindelwald’s eyebrows raised and his mouth quirked in that infuriating way it did so often. It was strange how it was one thing to think about this man and hate him while he wasn’t there in front of Percival, and entirely another to do that when he was. Grindelwald knew exactly how to draw him into a challenge, and not necessarily a fight. It was like a game to him, seeing how much he could work Percival up into playing with him by trying to resist. 

So Percival merely tightened his jaw and tried to flay the man alive with his gaze alone. “No,” he ground out, but didn’t otherwise move. He wanted to see if Grindelwald would let him out anyway. The man wanted him at the dinner table, and Percival could imagine it already, sitting between Grindelwald and Credence with the weight of everything hanging over his head. They’d have to battle it out now to see who wanted it more. 

But then Grindelwald leaned closer, moving into Percival’s space while his eyes roamed up and down, taking him in. “That’s bad manners, Percy. I’m your host now, and you’d like to clean up soon as well as have dinner, I imagine. If you decide to remain in here for much longer, you’re only hurting yourself.” Grindelwald spoke as though he was sharing a secret between them, so close the warmth of his breath against Percival’s cheek brought back memories he didn’t want to think about. 

But they weren’t alone now, and he hadn’t forgotten what he’d promised Credence that night. “Get off me,” Percival growled not much louder than Grindelwald had spoken, and the man’s mismatched eyes flashed. 

Grindelwald took him in for only a moment before his chin lifted, eyes glittering with humour. “Shy now, are you?” He didn’t bother to quiet himself that time. If Credence was somewhere in the hall, listening to them, he would be able to hear. “There’s no need.” When Grindelwald turned back to the doorway, Percival’s stomach sank. “Credence,” the man called, all trace of threat gone. 

As Percival had suspected, Credence appeared in the doorway shortly enough for him to have been lurking in the hall. His little hands clutched at the door frame, as though he could handle seeing either Percival or Grindelwald well enough, but the both of them together was jarring for him. 

Grindelwald turned away from Percival and held out a hand to Credence. Something about the way he moved made Percival uneasy. He was bending slightly to meet the boy’s eyes better. Credence only glanced Percival’s way briefly before he reached up for Grindelwald’s hand and allowed the man to lift him in his arms. The uneasiness deep in Percival’s chest grew. Grindelwald was smiling at the boy and securing an arm around his back while Credence’s little legs locked around his waist. 

Credence’s dark eyes glanced in Percival’s direction again now that the boy was at the same height, but his attention was quickly drawn back by the tips of Grindelwald’s fingers at his cheek. The motion was familiar, not so deep in Percival’s mind. He could feel those fingers at his own jaw, and his breath stopped in realisation just before Grindelwald leaned in to press his lips to Credence’s. 

Percival’s blood went cold. The two didn’t break apart for a long second, and he couldn’t take his eyes away. He’d never thought…. Grindelwald had taunted him about Credence’s looks, even this small, but hadn’t thought the man was serious. 

When they parted, Grindelwald’s expression looked almost soft as he took in Credence’s reaction, idly stroking the boy’s hair with the back of his fingertips. Credence’s cheeks were bright pink, either at the kiss or at being observed. Grindelwald looked back to Percival with the same smile, now curling just for him. “See, Percy? There’s no need to be modest. Credence doesn’t mind.” 

Before he knew what he was doing, Percival lunged forward. There was no thought behind it. All he could see was his hands around Grindelwald’s neck. Very dimly, he was aware he made some kind of noise, a shout that caused Credence to flinch back into Grindelwald’s arms, one that appeared to startle even Grindelwald himself if the step he took backward was any indication, but then the chain wrenched Percival back. As soon as it had started, it was over. He felt a great lurch in his centre of gravity and a distant pain in his wrists and shoulder and then found he was flat on his back, his feet splayed out before him and his wrists over his head. 

He coughed, winded after going down so hard on an unforgiving surface, and rolled over, trying to regain his feet. “You. _Bastard,_ ” was all he could manage to choke out in a much more undignified fashion than he’d meant to, but even with the pain in his back, he managed to climb to his feet, only a little unsteady with all the fury rushing through him. 

Grindelwald had taken another step back and Credence was clutching tightly at the man’s shirt, something very much like fear in the boy’s eyes as he watched Percival. “Control yourself, Percy,” the man warned him. Grindelwald’s eyes were cold now. “I know you wouldn’t mean to hurt the boy.” 

“ _But you would,_ ” Percival growled back, followed with another cough. He hated the way Grindelwald was looking at him like he didn’t understand what he was seeing, but he hated the way Credence was looking at him even more. The boy had been wary of him and all but blatantly refused to believe Grindelwald was using him before, but this was worse. 

“I have done no such thing.” Grindelwald turned back to Credence and lifted him higher on his waist. “I am very sorry for the way I treated you in New York. I can’t excuse that, but I can do my best to move beyond it. I have no intention of hurting you ever again.” He was ignoring Percival entirely now, and Percival could see the way his thumb was tracing soothing circles against Credence’s cheek. The boy nodded and ducked his head, quite clearly aware that they were being watched. 

It set Percival off enough to yank against the chains again. “Credence,” he breathed, “this man is _lying_ to you. He _uses_ people. He did the same to me.” 

Credence looked back at him, blinking quickly, obviously not understanding exactly what Percival meant, but it looked like he had a fair guess in mind. 

Grindelwald merely raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I honestly enjoyed our time together? Why would I lie about such a thing if I didn’t want it?” And that had Credence turning back to stare at Grindelwald, visibly putting the pieces together. 

“You were _using_ me,” Percival countered, knowing there was no way Grindelwald could deny it. It had been quite literal at the time. 

“I was using your _face_ , Percival. I merely _enjoyed_ your body, as I recall you did mine, no strings attached,” Grindelwald replied, undaunted. 

Credence’s cheeks had gone even pinker looking between them, so much so that the tips of his ears were coloured with it. 

The point Percival had been trying to make was quickly getting lost. This wasn’t about himself and Grindelwald. It was about Credence now, how young the boy was, or appeared, and how badly Grindelwald had used him until now. Graves shook his head. “You can’t—” 

“ _Percival_.” Grindelwald raised his hand and cut him off. No magic came with the gesture, but some instinct in the back of Percival’s mind now associated it with danger and he stopped before he meant to. “I truly do not care what moral qualms you have over this, but for the time being you’re going to keep them to yourself, and we’re going to enjoy dinner. Together.” 

Credence crouched a little lower, and Percival felt as bad for frightening him, possibly insulting him, as he was furious at Grindelwald. He didn’t know how to convey any of this to the boy if he wouldn’t listen. But Grindelwald’s attention moved from Percival back to Credence in his arms, half turning away to place a kiss on his cheek and stroke his hair. It seemed to bring him out of his shell somewhat, much to Percival’s irritation. 

“Go on and have a seat. Make sure Gwendoline has the table set.” Grindelwald bent and let Credence down. The boy didn’t stick around much longer to be observed. With one glance back at Percival he dashed down the hall and out of sight while all Percival could do was stand there stiffly and watch.

“Now,” Grindelwald began, straightening to face Percival, “behave yourself.” With a loose gesture of his hand, the chains dropped from Percival’s cuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be a week or two late while I'm away, but it will return soon! Thanks for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for waiting so long for this chapter! I hadn't expected it to be quite that long, but I should be back on track now. I'm working to finish another story at the same time I'm working on this one, so posting might turn into once every two weeks, but I should be back to posting regularly now.

Percival wanted to attack. He wanted to jump at the man and wrap his hands around his throat, but Grindelwald was smiling and standing there, so docile, knowing he wouldn’t do it. That frustrated Percival almost as much as it was true; he wasn’t going to lash out. Freed of the chain though he may be, the cuffs around his wrists still remained. He was at a disadvantage. 

“Why is it you think I’ll cooperate with you?” Percival asked, low and controlled. “You don’t think it makes a difference that you’re holding that boy captive now?”

Grindelwald raised a pale brow. “Dear Percy, are you telling me you’re only inclined to fight me over the life of another?” He took a step forward. “I remember you resisting quite defiantly the last time, in the beginning, when I only had you. If you’re implying you’re not important, don’t be so hard on yourself.” He stopped inches away, intimately close, but not oppressively so. It was impossible to tell whether he meant to antagonise Percival or whether he simply couldn’t help but test Percival’s limits. 

“That boy hasn’t even had a _chance_ at a life of his own,” Percival hissed, making sure he couldn’t be overheard from the other end of the hall. “And now you want to take it from him?” 

To Percival’s surprise, Grindelwald’s smile only grew wider. “Look at you, Percy. Already so devoted.” Something about the way he said it made Percival’s gut sink. “I think he’ll like you.” He leaned in like he was about to tell Percival a secret, but Percival did not pull back. “He’s worried, you know. He knows he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what to make of you, what your personality is like, whether you’re anything like I was as you. He thinks I may just kill you in the end and be done with it. And he wants so desperately not to get attached.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way Grindelwald was leering, teeth flashing white in the lamplight. The man hovered just close enough to force Percival to wait for a touch that never came. 

“Why are you doing this?” Percival turned his head just enough to meet Grindelwald’s gaze. “You don’t need me.” 

There was no change in Grindelwald’s face. “No. I don’t. Not really. I think you’ll be very useful, but you’d do well to remember that.” Finally, he pulled away and stood straight, but the smile at the corner of his mouth lingered. “Now come, dinner is getting cold.” 

With that, he turned his back to Percival, not worried in the least for his safety, and strode with a confident step down the hall. Percival was left to either follow or go hungry. He followed. 

Just as Grindelwald had asked, Credence was seated and waiting for them under a simple, yet elegant spread of dishes and cutlery. His eyes were wide as he caught sight of Percival, but then quickly looked away and fixed on Grindelwald instead. The man slid effortlessly into his seat and didn’t wait for Percival before dishing up the plates of rice, greens, and chicken onto Credence’s plate. Percival had gotten used to seeing Grindelwald at home in his own apartment—well furnished with fairly traditional tastes—comfortable there just as he seemed comfortable here, yet the man held a certain kind of air about him that made him seem like he could fit into just about any setting he wanted to. It wasn’t that Grindelwald could change himself to fit his surroundings, although certainly he could, as Percival well knew, it was that when he was in a room, his surroundings didn’t seem nearly as important. 

Percival didn’t feel nearly as confident as he pulled back one of the remaining chairs opposite Grindelwald. He tried not to sit too close to Credence. The boy still seemed nervous around him. Especially after what Percival had just witnessed. And the way he’d reacted. He glanced to the boy and tried to make eye contact, but Credence stared defiantly away from him. 

“I hope the two of you got along today.” Grindelwald sliced into a seasoned chicken breast like butter. “You’ll be coming out with us tomorrow, Percival.” 

Credence glanced up, but not to Percival. He was searching Grindelwald, who, in turn, was giving nothing away. But then Grindelwald reached across the table and squeezed Credence’s hand, a strange and yet easy gesture of affection. Percival felt his stomach turn again. Not because they made a displeasing picture, but because he could imagine all too well how a touch like that from Grindelwald could lead to more. 

“Where are we going?” Percival asked, as much to break the moment as he was curious. 

“A very special place.” Grindelwald met his eyes across the table and held them, but Percival could not say he knew what meaning laid behind the gaze. 

Warily, he nodded and caught an uncertain glance from Credence that the boy tried to hide the moment Percival’s attention moved to him. The boy had some idea, then, but he became very interested in poking at his dinner suddenly. Grindelwald merely smiled and went back to his own meal. 

“I forgot to mention,” Grindelwald began just as Percival spooned a helping of rice onto his plate, hoping he could stomach it with the way his gut was lurching every so often. “You were in the paper today.”

Percival’s spoon stopped. He took a steady breath and noted the way Grindelwald went on as though it wasn’t unusual in the least. It wasn’t that Percival hadn’t been expecting news of his sudden disappearance, and the scuffle that had ensued before it, would make the news. It just wasn’t pleasant to hear. 

Grindelwald wiped his mouth with a table cloth and reached behind him, searching for something atop a nearby table. A heavy newspaper landed on the dining table a moment later, the headline plainly visible and the photograph below it showing distraught guests at the extravagant hall of the Minister’s home the night of the party. 

“Speculation is that the political historian who was so tragically murdered the night of the party had confronted you on suspicions of your true loyalties. Guests say they saw the two of you leaving the hall together before he died and you so suddenly disappeared. It’s unfortunate his companion that night couldn’t be found to clear the matter up. Even more unfortunate that no one seems to remember precisely who that companion was. There seems to have been a slight mix up on the guest list.” Grindelwald sipped his wine. 

Percival stilled. He could feel his hands shaking, clutching the silverware tight. “Is that how you plan to keep me here? Make me a wanted man?” He could imagine MACUSA right now. Half the place had already been suspicious of his loyalties. Evans and Montague would be running themselves ragged trying to find him. Willoughby…. Willoughby might just believe the papers.

“It’ll make things easier this way, don’t you think? Perhaps not for you.” Grindelwald smiled, loading his fork with olives. “Even if you do free yourself, there are going to be questions. You could tell them it was all part of my plot to kidnap you again, but why would I go to the trouble when I’d had you already? What could you possibly still have that I want?” Grindelwald gave him a knowing smile. 

Percival should have expected this, but it was still a blow. A painful one, at that. He couldn’t very well explain Grindelwald’s interest in him, but for his personal vendetta being a nuisance. 

“I’d rather risk it than let you go on as you are,” Percival countered, even though he wasn’t feeling particularly good about his chances. If nothing else, Credence at least might hear his bravado. Percival had no idea what Grindelwald had done to him in the short time between then and New York, but Grindelwald had managed to sway the boy somehow. Credence needed to know that there could be hope of leaving, still. 

“Eat your dinner, Percival,” Grindelwald scolded him like he was a child. 

All Percival could do was throw him a look that said exactly what he thought of being treated in such a way. Credence, delicately moving rice around his plate more than he was eating it, glanced worriedly between them. 

For a few moments, they ate in silence. But Percival couldn’t let it go. Seconds passed that felt like minutes and Percival couldn’t unclench his hands. He waited as long as he could before he spoke again, trying very hard to make his tone civil, for Credence’s sake.

“So, Credence tells me you’re teaching him?” 

Grindelwald, for all intents and purposes, looked as if he’d not heard. Seconds passed while Percival waited to be acknowledged. Eventually, the man’s fork stopped scraping against his plate and Grindelwald looked back at him thoughtfully. “I am indeed. I think our boy here could be a great wizard, someday.” 

Credence blushed and looked away, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. 

Percival nodded, conscious of being at least supportive for Credence’s sake, but he couldn’t hold himself back any further. “A great wizard, or a great follower?” He didn’t take his eyes off Grindelwald and swore the man stopped himself just short of letting out a sigh. 

“Such a grudge you hold, Percy. Is it because you’re too stubborn to admit I’m right? You denied joining me so many times you’re incapable of it?” The annoyance faded from Grindelwald’s face. Only a light air of amusement remained. “Would you truly rather I return him to MACUSA? We could see just how well they take the news he’s alive. What do you suppose they’d do to an obscurial that they didn’t try to do the last time? Do you think they’d have pity now that he’s merely a child?” Grindelwald inclined his head as though he were really mulling it over. “I wouldn’t have very high hopes. Not when the mere existence of an obscurial poses a threat to the magical laws of secrecy. A wizard who cannot control his own magic? Imagine it. They’d say they have no choice.” 

Percival scowled. “Don’t you dare claim to care what happens to him.” 

Grindelwald raised a surprised eyebrow. Credence’s eyes drew towards Percival, unable to help his curiosity. 

“You want him to be free? Let us go. I’ll take him to the countryside, away from no-majs. I’ll make sure the law doesn’t touch him. He’ll learn magic there, where he can be safe. From them and from you, and whatever authorities are after you. That’s what you’d do if you really cared.” Percival set his jaw and laid down his silverware, uninterested in the food. 

“Oh _Percy_ ,” Grindelwald, to Percival’s surprise, laughed. “You are transparent.”

It must have caught Credence off guard as well because the boy’s attention turned quickly from Percival to Grindelwald, and Credence didn’t look like he followed any better. The laughter took a lot of the heat out of Percival’s words, however, and he didn’t appreciate it. 

“Where was this hero complex when I had you locked up in your own flat?” Grindelwald asked, leaning forward with elbows on the table while Percival scowled. “A sweet young thing in danger really brings out the protective side of you, doesn’t it?” 

Percival wanted to upend the table. “You really can’t think past your own motives, can you?” he shot back. 

“I’d say I’ve gotten by fairly well so far.” Grindelwald quirked a self-satisfied smile and it was all Percival could do to resist attempting to wipe it off his face. The truly frustrating thing was that Percival couldn’t tell whether Grindelwald was referring to Credence or to his following. 

Percival realised with some awkwardness that they had been talking over Credence while the boy had yet to say a word. He glanced at the boy beside him with a moment’s guilt, and perhaps a touch of apprehension at being accused of having ulterior motives for wanting him free of Grindelwald. But Credence had hunched down and wasn’t looking at either of them. 

“That still doesn’t mean you aren’t only thinking of yourself,” Percival said, quietly this time, for the boy’s sake. Percival didn’t want to be talking about him like he was a thing to be fought over. He wanted the boy to understand his intentions weren’t like Grindelwald’s. 

“No one is truly altruistic. Don’t tell me you believe otherwise.” With patience, Grindelwald scooped a helping of rice onto his fork, attention dropped from Percival just as quickly as it had locked on him. “You can hardly fault me for that.” 

Percival’s jaw clenched. He could easily see letting this go on. It was the way Grindelwald’s occupation of his apartment back in New York had begun. Once Percival had stopped trying to outright attack him every time they were in the same room, all he had left were verbal barbs to throw. The trouble was that Grindelwald seemed to enjoy it, and soon the barbs turned into banter. That’s how it had started. Percival had gotten used to it. He’d let himself begin to enjoy it, too. But it was hard to entertain the idea of going there when the boy Grindelwald had manipulated, kidnapped, and then transfigured into a child was sitting at the dining table serving as a reminder of everything Percival had done wrong the first time he let himself get comfortable.

From across the table, Grindelwald watched him, daring Percival to provide a retort. Instead, he met Grindelwald’s gaze, and took a bite of spinach. 

Grindelwald merely raised an eyebrow, and with that, they went back to their meal. Even Credence, seeing that the other two were pointedly finished speaking, tentatively began to eat again. In the back of his mind, Percival was glad to see the boy not going hungry. 

By the time they finished, Percival had pushed his plate aside and had taken to watching Grindelwald. The man’s movements were fluid and just as alluring as they always were, but Percival was interested in how he behaved with Credence. Body language often spoke volumes. Mostly, Grindelwald seemed as at ease with the situation as Percival remembered him being. He didn’t reach out for the boy again, nor make any casual gestures of invading his space. Credence, for his part, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but at that table, having dinner with the two of them. 

Grindelwald finally pushed aside his own plate, licking his lips in a most distracting manner and looking between Credence and Percival with a barely concealed humour. “Get yourself cleaned up.” His gaze landed on Percival while he nodded towards the bathroom. “Take a bath. I don’t want you stinking up the guest room.” 

Percival scowled. “Then don’t keep me chained there.” But he rose, not wanting to suffer Grindelwald’s stare any longer, and tossed his napkin down on the table, regretting it immediately when Credence flinched. Whatever dramatic resistance he’d been about to make deflated. Attempting to make up for it, he took care in pushing his chair back into place quietly. 

Right on cue, Gwendoline came in to take care of the empty plates as Percival left. He couldn’t help glancing at the two wizards out of the corner of his eye before he reached the hall, however. He caught Credence finally looking up, glancing to Grindelwald, who reached across the table and squeezed the boy’s hand. 

Percival left before his stomach could tie itself into a worse knot. Even with the chains gone, the cuffs around his wrists still clacked as he opened the door. He couldn’t bring himself to be surprised that Grindelwald was letting him out of sight. Not with his magic gone and whatever else was imbued into his shackles. He was sure the man would have at least half a dozen charms on them, just in case. And there was also the matter of legilimency. Grindelwald was a master. Percival knew he couldn’t hide his thoughts from him. He could try, he was an excellent occlumens against almost anyone else, but he knew it had only a fraction of a chance at being successful. Grindelwald used to delight in listening in on his thoughts. Especially when he provoked Percival. 

Of course he had to start thinking about this as soon as he entered the bathroom, alone, intending to bathe. He had no idea what Grindelwald’s range was, but there had been more than one occasion he thought the man was reading him while not looking directly into his eyes. Just in case, he shot a few choice curses in his head directed to the other room before he looked around, turned on the water, stripped, and got in. 

He sighed. The tub was large, enough to fit him comfortably, and he’d filled it high. He knew he’d been tense, but he hadn’t quite _felt_ it until he was submerged in the steaming water. It threatened to loosen his limbs, even when his mind wouldn’t allow him to relax completely. He ran his hands over his face and then his hair, pushing it back into the style it had held when he’d arrived, since then mussed with sleep and the attempts of his fingers to keep it out of the way. The littlest things were tiresome without magic. 

When he dunked his head under, he didn’t surface right away. There were no thoughts of drowning in his mind, but the submergence felt good, in a way. The water was an embrace that muted everything else. He wiped at his eyes when he rose again. He might be tired, he might be reeling at having to adjust to captivity again, but he couldn’t start letting himself focus on temporary escapes like that. The comfort of the bath was only available to him so long as Grindelwald allowed it. If he continued to defy the man, it might not be available to him for much longer. Even if him going unwashed annoyed Grindelwald as much as it did Percival. 

His thoughts drifted back to the man and the boy at the table, clasping hands when his back had been turned. He thought about the way they’d looked together in front of his doorway, Grindelwald holding Credence in his arms and kissing him more sensually than Percival could have imagined. Even when he washed his hair and dunked himself under the water again, the image of the two of them lingered in his mind. He attributed it to the shock. It was the best he could do. 

When he’d waited for as long as he could, he drained the tub and dried himself with a towel from the rack. He found other toiletries left out and was able to shave and put his hair back into place once it was dried as well as it could be. Percival looked a little more like himself when he glanced in the mirror. Not quite so haggard, but he couldn’t quite take away the haunted look about his eyes. 

He dressed again and, before going back out into the hall, listened to see if he could hear voices from the other side. There were none. Carefully, he opened the door. 

The lights were still lit as they had been when he’d left, but the dining table was empty now. It wasn’t until Percival rounded the corner that he found the pair on the couch. Credence was seated in Grindelwald’s lap, his back to the man’s chest and his legs not reaching nearly the length of Grindelwald’s, whose bent at the knee to allow Credence a space to nestle. The boy might have been asleep. His head was tucked under Grindelwald’s chin and his body was turned slightly into the man behind him while Grindelwald’s arms wrapped around him from behind. 

Percival would have never guessed how sinister the scene could be, had he not known better. 

He stopped in the hallway, posture rigid, but Grindelwald wasn’t shy about meeting his gaze again. Gently, the man raised a finger to his lips, indicating Credence was either asleep or about to be, and that Percival should be quiet. As though Percival expected this in any way. As though he was going to go along with it. 

Percival scowled. He found he was doing that a lot lately, especially when Grindelwald had his way. Percival didn’t want to go back to ‘his’ room. He wanted answers, more than anything. He also wanted Grindelwald to stop stroking Credence’s belly and to let the boy go to sleep elsewhere, but he knew he wasn’t going to get that wish, so he went to a chair opposite the pair, as far away as he could sit. 

Grindelwald moved his attention back to Credence and made sure Percival didn’t make a sound. Or look away. His touches were so light, thumb rubbing over Credence’s belly and then moving up to brush his fingers against Credence’s cheek. The boy didn’t stir. 

It was difficult not to wonder what Grindelwald had done to earn such devout trust, or if, perhaps, Credence was willing to overlook the events back in New York simply because he was that starved for touch and comfort. The boy had been used to being taken advantage of, Percival imagined. That was the impression Tina had given, and, if he was honest with himself, he could imagine it all too easily when he’d spoken with the boy earlier. 

“Do you think me a monster, Percival?” Grindelwald asked, the words soft on his lips. Soft enough not to disturb Credence. 

“Yes.” Percival said it without thought. He was thinking not only of everything Grindelwald had assuredly done to this boy, but of the entirety of the wizarding world. 

Contrary to Percival’s intent, Grindelwald smiled. “No, you don’t.” Still he didn’t look at Percival. He had eyes only for Credence, tracing his fingers along the boy’s brow and down his face. Percival followed its path down soft skin, along Credence’s neck, his collar bone, and then trailing over his shoulder. 

“And how do you know that?” Percival kept his voice quiet for the boy’s sake, but didn’t attempt to take away the bite. Grindelwald was far too comfortable with his position of power here. 

“I’ve seen into your mind.” Grindelwald’s eyes flashed up to meet his. “You might think you can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me.” 

“Just because I find you attractive doesn’t mean I can’t think you’re a monster.” Percival stared back. “And I have never, _ever_ thought about Credence that way.” 

The boy was now breathing steadily in Grindelwald’s arms, his lips parted, pink and soft. 

“Not overtly, no. But you notice things.” Grindelwald bent to rest his chin on the boy’s shoulder and look up at Percival from there. “You’d only have a small step to take. And you’re already so dedicated to him, the mere image of him, even when you thought him dead. You won’t be able to deny it much longer.” Grindelwald’s mouth curled at the corner. “Just like you couldn’t with me.” 

“It won’t matter,” Percival said, softer yet. “He’s not you. He’s innocent.” 

But Grindelwald’s smile grew, stopping Percival’s argument short. “Oh no he isn’t.” The man was shaking his head. “You’ve no idea the things he wanted from me—you—when he thought he’d never have a chance. You’ve no idea how much he loves having them now.” Percival’s jaw clenched and Grindelwald’s eyes moved to his mouth, smile never faltering. “Would you prefer he were innocent still? So as not to shatter your tragic mental image of him? _Has_ it shattered? Would you prefer he hate every moment of life here, with me?” 

Grindelwald could answer every one of these questions with a glance into Percival’s mind, and they both knew it, but Percival couldn’t let accusations like that go. “I’d prefer you left him untouched, by your hands or your machinations, whether he wants it or not.” 

“So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’” Grindelwald raised an eyebrow while Percival seethed. “I know you think you’re capable of ‘handling’ me, while he isn’t,” a slow smile spread over the man’s face, “but the truth is, neither of you are.”

Percival’s hands clenched around the arms of the chair. He fought to restrain himself from rising, again for Credence’s sake alone. 

“Don’t fret,” Grindelwald admonished. “I have your best interests at heart. Both of you. Credence would be lost and alone, wandering nigh incorporeal throughout the world if it wasn’t for me. Or dead. And you…,” Grindelwald’s eyes trailed up Percival’s chest with far too much familiarity. “You’d still be wallowing at MACUSA, pretending you’re doing something meaningful with your life.” 

“You’re a fucking narcissist, do you know that?” Percival shot back. The gall of this man astounded him, even when he should know to expect it by now. 

Grindelwald’s face split into a wide grin, visibly trying not to laugh and shake Credence awake. “I am perfectly aware,” he said, as softly as possible, but unperturbed. 

“You think his life should revolve around you, that _mine_ should, simply because you’ve walked into our lives and demanded our loyalty? All political standpoints aside, that’s deluded.” Percival felt very confident in this accusation, but Grindelwald was shaking his head.

“You have no idea what I’m offering you, do you? You can’t deny that I’ve given Credence so much more than he could have ever had, but you.” Grindelwald seemed to stare through him for a moment. The atmosphere of barbed banter shifted into something that couldn’t quite be defined. “There’s going to be a war, Percival, and your side is going to lose.” 

Percival watched him carefully, but Grindelwald gave nothing away. His mind was as obfuscated as it ever was. Percival could stare into his eyes for ages and never get anything back but the amusement on Grindelwald’s face, or, on occasion, the man’s enjoyment of just looking at him. 

“You’re so sure of that, are you?” Percival asked, searching for something more than an ominous certainty he couldn’t put his trust in. 

“I am,” Grindelwald stated calmly. 

After another long moment of Percival trying and failing to read him, the man went back to stroking Credence’s hair. The boy stirred, turning his head and doing his best to curl into Grindelwald’s shoulder, caught somewhere between wakefulness and slumber. 

“It’s someone’s bedtime, I believe.” Grindelwald gathered Credence up with such tenderness it was difficult even for Percival to believe it wasn’t real, and rose from the couch. He turned his back to Percival, again leaving himself wide open to physical attack, and left to put Credence to bed in his own room. 

In those scant seconds he was alone, Percival cast about the room for an escape, or a weapon, or _anything_ with magical properties he could use against Grindelwald, but there was nothing. He got up and tried the locks on the window, but it was sealed tight and wouldn’t budge to his prying hands. He turned at the sound of footsteps in the hall and found Grindelwald leaning against the corner’s edge, watching him. 

“I apologise for the lack of fresh air,” Grindelwald said as he moved into the room, looking anything but apologetic. His gait was steady, his hands in his pockets, perfectly casual as he looked Percival up and down. It caused an uncomfortable twist in Percival’s stomach. Grindelwald didn’t stop until he was within arm’s reach. 

Percival refused to let himself be backed into the wall. “I’m not going to join you.” He decided to cut to the chase. 

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow as though he’d just rudely derailed the conversation. After consideration, Grindelwald leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I think you will. I think a part of you knows it already. I have such leverage over you now, my dear Director. Not all of it would be unpleasant for you, if you were only willing to bend a little.” His eyes broke from Percival’s, falling to his collar. “My touch, for example. You saw nothing wrong with a little indulgence in that regard before.” 

Just as Percival was about to reiterate that it wasn’t going to happen again, Grindelwald’s eyes snapped up. “But that isn’t all. Your own safety would be a given. If you’re at my side, I’ll hardly be out to off you, will I? And then there’s Credence….”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you.” Percival couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t nearly as tempting as Grindelwald was trying to make it sound. He was trapped. Credence was trapped. That was it. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, turn his allegiances overnight, no matter what Grindelwald had the papers believing. “Even if you manage to make MACUSA doubt me, fire me, or hold me and interrogate me if and when I do get out of here, I wouldn’t turn to you.” 

Grindelwald sighed and closed his eyes. “I did appreciate your defiant streak.” 

Percival got the feeling he was reminding himself. When those mismatched eyes opened again, they glanced down to his wrists. 

“It’s your bedtime, too, I think,” Grindelwald mused, softly as if Credence had still been in the room with them. Percival fought the instinct to step back. Sensing the desire, Grindelwald reached out and took hold of his forearms with a touch so gentle that Percival wanted to rip them away just for spite. He managed to restrain himself, knowing the impulse was foolish and petty. It was worrying, though, just how nice the man’s touch felt as he raised Percival’s arms and ran his hands down them, brushing over the cuffs along the way. “I promise I’ll let you back out in the morning,” Grindelwald said just as quietly, like it was a secret between them when it was truly no such thing. The man had already told Percival he’d be in attendance the next day, even if the details were sparse. 

“I can hardly wait.” Percival tried for a deadpan, but it came out bitter. He couldn’t keep his fists from clenching either. 

Grindelwald simply smiled and ignored Percival’s discomfort, leading him by the wrist to follow him back to the ‘guest room’. 

Percival followed, but only just. He knew there was no point in fighting, but he couldn’t help the immediacy of the tension in his body the moment they approached the doorway. Mentally preparing himself to be chained again was asking too much. 

Sensing this, Grindelwald’s grip on his wrist grew firm and drew him forward, over the threshold of the door before he could make up his mind to attempt to pull away. 

Flashes of taking hold of the elegant light fixture, tearing it out of the wall, and smashing it against Grindelwald’s head came to mind. Or the potted plant they’d passed in the hall. Anything and everything within arm’s reach became a potential weapon no matter how well Percival knew it would do no good against Grindelwald’s magic, even if he did miraculously manage to catch the man off guard. Which was nearly impossible, as Grindelwald assured by the widening of his smile, catching Percival’s thoughts as quickly as they’d entered his mind. 

“Eager to let off a little steam?” Grindelwald pulled him farther inside. 

The chain on the floor lifted without Grindelwald even reaching for it, and Percival flinched. It snaked across the floor towards them and he planted his feet, not wanting to take another step forward. 

“Not exactly,” Percival hissed, trying very hard to keep his voice from shaking. He knew he should be better at controlling his reactions. Trembling was a bit extreme, but he’d been through this and thought he was done with it. He’d thought he’d been free. 

He jerked as he felt the metal touch his shoe and begin to climb his leg, but Grindelwald held him fast. He did everything he could to control himself the higher it rose, shifting along his hip and winding up his torso like a living thing, only to reach for his arms. His nails were digging into his palms. And then he heard the snap of metal sliding into place, the chain relinking itself to his cuffs. 

He glanced stiffly down and saw that it was real. His freedom was a step further away. 

Then Grindelwald’s hands lifted and stroked against the side of his temples, sliding into his hair. He didn’t know what to do. At first it was a surprise. Then he thought he should push the man off, but, very much against his will, his body sank into it. He couldn’t move, but miraculously, some of the tension was syphoned out of his limbs. 

With great effort, and part of him unsure how Grindelwald would react, he took a slow, but deliberate, step back. He kept his jaw tight, his hands clenched before him. Grindelwald had never struck him without being provoked, but for some reason Percival had a hard time reminding his instincts of that. _Never take anything for granted,_ was hardwired into him. But the hands fell from his face and returned to Grindelwald’s sides. If Percival wasn’t mistaken, the man’s smile looked a touch more sombre. 

“Goodnight, Percival,” Grindelwald said without hint of mockery. 

Taking the out with gratitude, Percival nodded. “Goodnight.” 

And then Grindelwald swept around him, and with one final glance up and down, disappeared into the hall. 

Percival didn’t let out a breath until the man’s footsteps faded. Then, shaking away the chains that had wound around his body, he went to the door and shut it tight. He was at the end of the chain. It was not comfortable, but he slumped against the door anyway. Like if he just held it there, then Grindelwald would not be able to get back in. He knew not to focus too much on these irrationalities popping up in his mind. He knew where they were coming from. He knew he was just desperate for any bit of hope. So long as they remained inconsequential, he could ignore them. 

Stiffly, he pulled back and took a look around the room. He found it exactly the way he’d left it earlier. The lamp at the bedside was lit, a strange and foreboding invitation to climb in and accept his prison. But he’d done it last night, and he could do it again this night and still awake in the morning to fight. He would need his sleep, he knew, so, wearily, he began to remove his clothing and ready himself for bed. 

He hadn’t expected to be so tired after merely a dinner with his captor and the boy. He wasn’t normally worn out so quickly, but he knew it had to be more than that. His body and mind had been tense the entire time. His heart had been racing. He’d been fatigued all day. And it wasn’t just himself he was worried about. 

Percival laid down, appreciating the softness of the bed in spite of everything, but unable to take his attention away from the door or his ears from trying to pick up on any sound coming from the outside. It occurred to him that he maybe shouldn’t have shut it. He knew his room was soundproofed, but he’d wanted that barrier between himself and Grindelwald so badly. 

Now, he found himself worried for Credence. Grindelwald hadn’t gone back to his room, the room he’d taken Credence, but Percival knew that didn’t mean a thing. Grindelwald wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. The boy would be spending the night with him. 

Percival shuddered to think about it, about the way he’d seen them together before and now the lingering feel of Grindelwald’s hands against his own face. The man could be so gentle when he wanted to be. Credence might never believe it to be a lie. 

Percival knew it was a lie. He’d known it all the while back in New York, too. Even in his indulgences, he’d never let himself believe Grindelwald had ever had the world’s best interests in mind, no matter how deluded the man was. Even his touch, no matter how pleasant, was a lie. But Percival was just beginning to understand how difficult it was to get his body to feel the same. 

With a sigh, he forced himself to turn away from the door. Even if it meant having his back to a potential intruder in the morning, he didn’t want to look at it anymore. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He needed to start thinking about how to get out of there instead.

* * *

As the sun rose the next morning, so did Gellert. The boy in his arms didn’t want to be roused, not even by soft nudges and whisperings in his ear. Credence had slept fitfully the night before. The boy’s mind was filled fuller than his stomach from dinner and kept rehashing the scene over and over in fits of anxiety. Gellert had had to shut him out in the end just to get some sleep, himself. His sleep was not nearly so troubled. But Credence was tired now, and uncharacteristically stubborn when Gellert finally sat up and attempted to draw the covers away. Credence managed to keep hold of one and burrowed as deeply into it as he could manage. 

Eventually, Gellert sighed. His voice dropped its carefully gentle edge when he told the boy he had better be up by the time Gellert was back from the bath. The moment he said it, he felt Credence’s mind prickle with a fear that would never truly be lost to him. The fear that the safety Gellert provided might be shakier than he’d allowed himself to hope.

When Gellert returned, washed and shaved, Credence was out of bed and dressed. He smiled to the boy and patted his head with a gentle touch, and Credence’s mind eased. Credence went to wash up while Gellert called for Gwendoline to start breakfast and coffee. The only door that remained closed was that of their new guest. 

Once he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed, Gellert went to Graves’ door and knocked politely. There came no answer, although he was not surprised. Not wasting time with further pleasantries, Gellert opened the door. Again, not altogether surprisingly, he found Graves awake, sitting on his bed with his back to the headboard and watching the door carefully. The man was already dressed. 

Gellert let the corner of his mouth turn up. “Someone’s prepared. That eager, are you?” 

“Eager to get out of this room, yes,” Graves corrected. “Not so sure about wherever you’re taking me.” 

“Us. We’ll all be going.” Gellert let his hand slip down the doorway as he stepped inside, beckoning for Graves to rise and meet him. After a moment’s hesitation, Graves did. He was watching Gellert warily, but Gellert kept curling and uncurling his finger until the man was standing in front of him. With a glance to Graves’s wrists, the chains dropped to the floor. “I hope you’ll be as civilised for breakfast as you were for dinner last night.” Gellert took in every twitch, every strain of tension, every nervous movement in Graves’s body before arriving at the man’s eyes, staring back into his own. They were of a height, but Gellert didn’t mind. 

Graves was too proud, or too stubborn, to nod, but his mind acquiesced all the same. 

Gellert smiled and spun on his heel, leaving his back open as he strolled from the room. 

It was another few minutes before Graves joined them at the dining table. He was having trouble acclimating to captivity. It made him broadcast every doubt as clearly as though he were speaking them aloud for Gellert to hear, even when he tried so hard to hide them. Even Credence could see it, although the boy could not discern his true thoughts without knowing him better. Nevertheless, it amused Gellert to watch the boy pick up on such things. 

Graves was an unavoidable reminder to Credence that he hadn’t arrived with the sense that he was free, either. Even though Gellert had struck a deal that he would be had he wished to leave in the end. Even Gellert had to admit he didn’t know how that would have turned out if he hadn’t been able to sway the boy in his favour. Not every option would have been horrible, though. Credence was still very limited, magically, and it remained to be seen whether he would ever turn out to be a true threat to anyone. He had potential. Plenty of it. But it refused to show in this world. 

Quietly, they ate a simple meal of eggs and sausage. Neither Graves nor Credence wished to break the silence, and Gellert sat comfortable in the tension between them as he read the morning’s newspaper. 

When he was finished, he rose without a word, laying his napkin down on the table for Gwendoline to clear. The other two put their forks down, watching his back. Gellert caught Graves’s mind on Credence, watching the boy covertly when Gellert wasn’t looking, seeing if he could get the boy to look back at him, hoping for understanding through gaze alone. 

“Time to go,” Gellert called, disappearing into the hall to find his coat. 

Graves was still searching for Credence’s eyes, but the boy did not hesitate to hop off his chair and follow Gellert’s command. He even caught a flash of relief from Credence. It wasn’t so easy for the boy to be under Graves’s scrutiny like that. Granted, it wasn’t easy for him to be under Gellert’s scrutiny either, but he knew what to expect from Gellert now. He knew what Gellert wanted, and what he didn’t want. And Credence knew he was allowed to want things himself, now. He just didn’t know what to make of Graves.


	12. Chapter 12

Gellert helped Credence with his coat, even though the boy could do it by himself. Graves was watching, and it wasn’t difficult to feel the way he was taking in the sight. As anxious as Graves was over being let outside the flat, his eyes still lingered on Gellert’s hands slipping the scarf around Credence’s neck and tucking it into his coat, thumbs brushing against soft skin along the way. 

It was a miracle how the man deluded himself. 

Gellert straightened and smiled down at Credence, cupping the boy’s cheek in his palm for a moment and feeling the reciprocal swell of warmth from Credence’s mind. The boy wasn’t so self-conscious when Gellert was looking at him with such affection, and he had to admit it was a pleasant feeling. 

Graves, however, turned sourer the longer they looked at each other with such fondness. 

Gellert glanced back at the man with his smile curling. He inclined his head towards the coat rack, beckoning Percival to them. “One of my coats would fit you well enough.” 

Graves hesitated at the edge of the hall. Credence looked from one man to the other, realising they were indeed of a height. Even their builds were not dissimilar. Graves perhaps had shoulders a touch broader and muscle a little thicker, but even if Gellert hadn’t stolen Graves’s body, they could have swapped clothes. 

Graves didn’t ask what Gellert intended to do about his cuffs. The answer was obvious. Nothing. Even on the street he would be helpless to do anything about his predicament. With his magic suppressed, he wouldn’t make it far before Gellert could utter _imperio_ and have him back under control. If Graves had any chance of freedom, he couldn’t even plan for it. They both knew this as he stepped forward, glancing among the long coats before picking one out for himself. Dark, thick, and one that stood out very little compared to the rest. Still, it looked good on him when he pulled it around his shoulders and looked for gloves and a scarf without being asked. 

Gellert appreciated that. If they were seen, the three of them would make a handsome group. He did not, however, intend for them to be seen. 

Once Graves was ready, Gellert let them out of the flat with a strong disillusionment charm around each of them. Graves gave a shiver as his wand passed over the man, but refused to speak. Gellert smiled, not needing him to. 

All of this was very strange to Credence, watching the pair of them interact. It looked to him like they were speaking without words, or that Gellert was just very good at reading Mr. Graves. 

Gellert even caught him wondering whether he looked like that himself when he and Gellert were sharing a moment. Gellert put his hand on the boy’s back as they walked and listened carefully for tones of jealousy, but Credence was too humbled by the sight of them to feel it. Proud of the little obscurial, Gellert squeezed his shoulder and offered him a smile. 

Credence smiled back, a small one, but a smile all the same. They were rare from him still, but not as rare as they once were. Credence was thinking about the place they were going, and this was a secret shared between himself and Gellert. The boy was proud of that fact, that he had known about it before Mr. Graves. 

It was interesting to see Credence’s mind flit back and forth between forgetting that Graves might not be a permanent fixture in their presence, and fearing him there, and what might become of him at Gellert’s hands. There was little he could do to reassure the boy. Even if he took Credence aside and told him that he wouldn’t harm Graves, Credence would have a hard time believing him. Besides, that might be a lie. 

With a muffling charm, Gellert apparated the three of them to the city’s edge, and, silently, they made their way out to the countryside. 

Graves didn’t question it. He knew Gellert was avoiding the wards. He just didn’t know where they would end up once they were far enough out, and Gellert was not about to let up on the suspense, even if it was making Percival sweat underneath the thick layers of his clothes, a sharp contrast to the winter’s chill. 

Gellert quite liked the unease radiating from the man’s mind. He liked everything about it except for the way Graves’s stiffness and sombre silence made Credence uneasy. The boy walked closer to Gellert, just out of Graves’s reach if the man were to lash out at either of them. 

When Gellert apparated them for the second time, Graves was so stiff his knees locked up the moment they appeared in Kromlau park and nearly overbalanced. He caught himself after a teetering moment, unwilling to reach for Gellert. 

Gellert smoothed his hand along the man’s back, even though it was clear how much Graves did not want to be touched. Soothing or not, it would ground the man, Gellert knew. “Almost there.” 

Graves set his jaw, but did not make a sound. 

Credence was beginning to draw back now. Along the road he’d walked at Gellert’s side. When they’d visited here before, he’d done so as well. He was not afraid of this place, but this time he hung back, close still, but wary of saying or doing anything that Gellert didn’t want. Credence didn’t know what Graves was supposed to see and what he wasn’t. 

As a small gesture of appreciation, Gellert stroked the boy’s hair as he passed, noting the way Credence’s eyes closed and his body relaxed at the simplest touch. 

He led the way down the winding path until they reached the pond. Graves spotted the wooden boat through the trees right away, but looked around, unable to determine what they’d truly come there for. But Gellert motioned for Credence to climb in, and then for Graves to follow. 

Obediently, Credence did. He settled into his spot at the front of the boat and waited patiently while Graves looked on with scepticism. 

Gellert cocked his head. “Not getting cold feet now, are you?” He pulled the boat closer to the shore and stepped one foot inside, waiting for Graves. 

It was with a sigh that the man relented, having found nothing visibly out of place along the path or in the woods around them. Graves couldn’t sense the sheen of magic in the air with his own suppressed, and the irony tickled Gellert. 

Graves climbed in on the opposite side and would have refused Gellert’s hand had he offered it. He settled in the middle, between Credence and the back of the boat, and didn’t say a word. Gellert caught Credence shift, uncomfortable with Graves’s eyes on him and the man’s proximity, and ultimately cast his eyes to the edge of the water and away from Graves altogether while Gellert climbed in. 

They departed with a gentle brush of Gellert’s influence. Credence was accustomed to this by now. He might not have known much about the other world, but he knew what to expect on the journey there, so it was interesting when the boy glanced back at Gellert, having to look over Graves’s shoulder to do so, with a note of worry in his mind. Gellert tried to reassure the boy with the meeting of their eyes and the calm certainty Credence craved from him. 

It seemed to help. Credence settled again, and this time looked out over the bow of the boat and across the pond. Graves’s gaze followed, as that was the direction they were headed, but a bend in the shoreline blocked their destination. 

Gellert could feel his apprehension. It rippled within the current of ambient magic over the water, disturbing the peaceful feeling that hung in the air. Although he often enjoyed provoking Graves’s moods, the contrast made his skin itch. 

When they rounded the bend in the pond, however, and Graves caught sight of the perfect, circular bridge in the distance, the man’s mental fidgeting vanished. His mind went almost entirely blank, in fact, he was so struck at the sight. Gellert could not help the pull at the corners of his mouth upon feeling it. 

Graves stared. His thoughts reeled. His back straightened and his hands reached for the sides of the boat to steady himself. His breath might have even stopped. “Is that….” 

His voice caught Credence’s attention. The boy’s shoulders hunched instinctively at the sound, but he turned curious eyes back at Graves. Credence had come here knowing nothing about this place, but it was quite clear that was not the case for Percival Graves. 

“A Devil’s Bridge,” Gellert finished for him. “It is.” 

Slowly but surely, their little boat advanced across the water, and Graves only seemed to grow more excited the nearer they came. His knuckles turned white against the wooden they gripped and even Credence turned a worried glance back at him and tried to make himself smaller, afraid of being knocked aside if Graves were to move suddenly. But the man remained fixed on the high stone arch as they approached, with a litany of _’it can’t possibly be’_ running through his head. 

Graves was in denial up until the moment they passed underneath. The moment they cleared the other side and the sight of lush vegetation and bright, warm sun fell upon them, Graves stopped breathing. For one surreal moment, he looked just as Credence had the first time Gellert had taken the boy across, forgetting to be wary, forgetting he was being held captive, forgetting who was with him and why, and everything except for the sights and sounds before them of an entirely different world. 

“This can’t be,” Graves whispered. “These places don’t exist anymore.” 

Credence turned back to the man with a puzzled quirk to his brow. 

“It’s legend, of the Fae-kind. No human witch or wizard is said to have set foot beyond a Devil’s bridge in thousands of years.” Graves spoke for the boy’s benefit, but also for himself. As though he needed to hear it to believe it. 

“Fae, like fairies?” Credence asked, voice just loud enough to be clear. 

“No, not like fairies, more like….” Graves trailed off, too stunned to hesitate over giving Credence more information about the wizarding world. “They were said to be our ancestors, at least in the ways of magic. The oldest families all have legends of them passed down through the ages, but…. It’s sort of like King Arthur and Camelot. There are texts, but never evidence.” For once, Graves was more taken with the forest around them than the boy in front of him as they approached the shore. 

Credence didn’t mind, however, as he didn’t particularly like being anyone’s direct focus for very long. Except in those private times with Gellert, perhaps. And even then, it had taken the boy a long time to learn to calm himself. He was imagining no one setting foot in this world for such a long time when they reached the shore. 

As they climbed out, Graves walked the shore, inspecting the solidity of the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs. Gellert couldn’t help a chuckle. 

“It’s real, Percy. I’ll push you in the lake to be sure if you don’t believe me.” He went to Credence and rubbed the boy’s back as he spoke, soothing the tension that had accumulated there. 

Graves turned back to the pair of them with a frown, but this time it was drawn across his face with uncertainty instead of frustration. “How can I believe this, that you’ve truly managed to find a way through a Bridge and this isn’t all some meticulously planned charade?” There should have been harsher accusation in his tone, but he was still too awed for it to show. 

Gellert gave a falsely modest shrug of his shoulders. “I’ll just have to show you what can be accomplished here, I suppose.” He took a step closer, feeling a smile draw across his mouth. “And the thing is, we’re not here for you. It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not. You can imagine I’ve created all this just to fool you, if you like.” He had such a clear image of himself in Percival’s mind, head cocked and eyes faintly twinkling in the sunlight, a look of perfect mischief in his face. It tickled his sensibilities, but Graves only straightened his back, fighting the urge to follow Gellert’s humour. 

“Then what are we here for?” Graves asked. 

In response, Gellert turned his attention to Credence, who was standing not far up the sandy shore. The boy had been watching with that degree of fascination he always held whenever they got close. Credence didn’t even realise he was doing it, and it was rather amusing, but when their attention turned to him, he suddenly became aware of himself. He looked uncertain, eyes flitting from Gellert to Graves and back again, anticipating what Gellert would say next. 

“To practise magic, of course,” Gellert said with a smile and headed up the shore to join Credence. He wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, now hunched a little more than they were before. He bit his lip and looked worriedly up at Gellert, but Gellert only squeezed his shoulder and drew Credence in for a half embrace as he led the way to the path. 

Graves was left to catch up.

Credence’s anxiety welled the farther they went. Gellert could feel a strange mixture of nervousness pouring off him—he’d never ‘performed’ for anyone else before—and an unfamiliar sense of confidence somewhere deep in the boy’s belly. Credence was not used to such a feeling except in the rarest moments when the obscurus was let out. There was something about this place that seemed to be in sync with him, or his magic, and he could tell on an instinctual level. 

Gellert was beginning to pick up on it as well. Every time he’d taken Credence here, the boy had impressed him. Sometimes only in small ways, to be sure, but Credence did show potential here that he did not in their own world. 

Gellert brought them to the clearing where he and Credence practised and told Graves to sit down by a tree to keep out of their way. The man shot him a look of mild annoyance, but did as he was asked. Gellert thought it might help Credence not to have the man lurking so prominently, and although the boy’s anxiety did not dissipate completely, he was correct in his judgement. 

When he stood in front of Credence, the boy only had eyes for him. 

“There now,” Gellert said, keeping his voice a quiet murmur, “it’s just you and me. I’d like to brush up on some of the spells you’ve learnt so far. It’s been a few days since you’ve had practise. Does that sound like a good idea?” He lowered his chin and met the boy’s eyes, imploring Credence’s confidence in him just as much as the boy’s wavering confidence in himself. 

As he’d expected, Credence straightened up a little taller. “Yes, I can do that.” His desire to please drifted through the space between them like a taste of honey. 

Gellert smiled and cupped his cheek. “My good boy.” He caught the twitch of Credence’s lip and the softening of his eyes, Credence’s special way of smiling when he couldn’t manage a real one. 

That was all the confirmation Gellert needed. He stepped back and let Credence get his bearings. The boy’s head dropped, but not in his usual hunch. He wasn’t trying to hide. He was looking inward. After a while, Credence had begun to find a sense of his own magic. Rather than gesturing and hoping it worked as most wizards did, and as he had done in the beginning, he’d noticed the faint current of it inside his own body. This was another reason Gellert had been proud of him. It was not common to feel one’s own magic in such a way. 

“Why don’t you start with the severing charm?” Gellert suggested, just to give Credence some guidance. Credence liked it when he was given a path to follow. He had a clearer understanding of what to do and what not to do, rather than fumbling for ideas to impress his tutor. 

Without further hesitation, Credence found a target in a small patch of bushes several metres away. He raised his hands, focused, and said the spell aloud in a high, clear voice he had never used to speak to anyone before. The tops of the bushes were cleaved in half in an instant. The motion was nearly soundless. There was no crack of branches breaking, only the rustle of leaves as they fell into the tall grass below. 

Credence took a deep breath, and Gellert could tell he was reorienting himself, surprised he’d managed to do that with another person watching. Even if Graves wasn’t in his line of sight, Credence knew the man was there. His hands shook somewhat as he raised them again, a bit of his nerves coming back now that he’d thought about Graves. 

Still, Credence persevered. He focused on the branches he’d cut down and called out a spell to repair the damage. Slowly and smoothly, the fallen branches lifted back into the air and slid into place among the bushes they’d dropped from. The severed limbs slotted into place and the cuts between them melted away until the bushes were just as tall as they’d been before and left looking very much the same. 

As they watched Credence continue with simple spells, Gellert began to feel a quiet sense of awe from where Graves sat opposite the clearing in the shade. It wasn’t difficult to imagine why. Graves had been informed Credence was an obscurial. A young man who’d repressed his own magic so vehemently it became something dark and uncontrollable. For that reason alone, Credence shouldn’t have been able to perform much magic at all, if any. Credence had told him as much when he’d revealed Gellert was giving him lessons, but here the boy was, controlling it with his hands and his will seemingly effortlessly. Gellert knew Credence wasn’t at all as sure of himself as he appeared, but Graves didn’t. Through Graves’s eyes, this little boy performing spells looked worlds apart from the shy creature that had haunted the halls of the flat in Berlin. 

Gellert let the man’s astonishment wash over him. He enjoyed it. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just that he’d taught Credence these spells. They were the same rudimentary spells every young wizard learnt. It was that Credence was _his_. It was with a certain sense of pride that he watched Credence perform and felt Graves react. He imagined how it would be when, _if_ , Credence was able to tap into his true potential. 

When the boy finished performing each spell he’d been practising under Gellert’s tutelage, he lowered his arms and looked around. It was as though he was coming back to himself after a period of indulgence. Perhaps escapism. If left for long enough, without Graves watching, Credence might have been able to get truly lost in it. 

Slowly, softly, Gellert clapped his hands. “Very good, Credence.” Some of the boy’s shyness returned as he approached, but he leaned into Gellert’s touch when he rested his hands on Credence’s shoulders. Credence wasn’t too shy to glance up at him either, even when they had an audience. 

“I had no idea you could do that.” The awe in Graves’s voice was palpable as he rose from his seat under the tree and came closer. Apparently he could overcome his unease with Gellert’s proximity if it was for the boy’s sake. 

Credence ducked his head. “It’s easier here,” he explained, fidgeting with the hem of his shirtsleeves. 

“Much easier.” Gellert smiled. He rubbed the boy’s back to comfort him. Credence rarely knew how to accept these little gestures of intimacy, but Gellert knew he appreciated them. 

A realisation passed over Graves’s face and he looked to Gellert. “If he can do that, then what can _you_ do?” His words were quiet, his tone serious, as though he expected Gellert to answer him. 

Gellert felt the smile upon his face growing until he knew it was fairly unsettling, but he just couldn’t help it when Graves gave him such an opening. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he lobbed back, stroking a hand at the back of Credence’s hair while taking in every bit of Graves’s dawning worries. He could see the thoughts running through the man’s head. If Gellert could amplify his own power and his own reach with the magic here, he could easily turn the tides of a coming war. Gellert felt the cold dread in Graves’s chest just as keenly as it happened to the man himself. 

Without thinking it through, Graves stepped back and tried to draw upon his own magic. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten his bonds, only that he was desperate. In a split second he hoped the legends of the Fae land beyond the bridges could save him, and everyone, if only he could act fast enough to catch Gellert off guard. 

It didn’t work. 

With a flick of Gellert’s wrist, Graves was knocked to the ground. He landed with a grunt though the thick grass was far more forgiving of his weight than the ground might have otherwise been. Gellert stalked towards the man while Credence backed away. He bent down and dragged Graves up by the collar, the flash of anger coiling with a rather enjoyable twist at how easy it was to take such a proud man off his feet. 

“When are you going to learn, Percy, just how little you can do to stop me?” he hissed, leaning close and appreciating the way Percival flinched, expecting another blow. The man’s hands clutched at his arms, locking them in a strange embrace. Their eyes met and Gellert’s lip curled, but his reactionary anger was melting just as quickly as it had come. Percival’s stress had an unusually arousing affect. He leaned in close enough to run his nose up along the side of Percival’s jaw, feeling the light brush of stubble and the way Percival stiffened before he pulled back. 

Graves didn’t lose his footing when Gellert let him go, but it was a near thing. He stumbled a few paces back and had to contend with a fair amount of adrenaline making his limbs uncoordinated. He could manage better in a real fight, they both knew, but when Gellert was involved, those fights were rarely fair. 

Credence was staring at them with wide eyes, hidden half behind one of the bushes he’d severed and then levitated earlier. There was tension thrumming through his mind and body like the crackle of electricity. Gellert could have closed his eyes and let it wash over him and remember the way Credence had felt when he’d been merely a few wisps of ink in the air. 

The boy was clearly affected by their confrontation. 

Gellert went to Credence, leaving Graves where he stood, shaken. The boy was trying not to shrink back as Gellert approached, so, slowly, he bent down to Credence’s level, resting his weight on one knee in the grass. When he reached for Credence’s hands, the boy allowed it.

“It’s alright, Credence. You don’t have anything to fear,” he said, watching the boy’s eyes take in his features. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” Dark eyes moved beyond him to the figure of Graves, whom Gellert knew through Credence’s mind was now standing defiantly taller and looking decidedly embarrassed for having been so easily beaten. 

“I told you I had something special for you.” Gellert turned Credence’s attention back to himself. “I’d like to try it, here, today, but I’m going to need your help. It might not be easy, but I can assure you, you’ll be safe.” Gellert looked into Credence’s eyes and willed the boy to see his intent before he started asking questions. 

Fortunately, Credence’s gaze did not move back to Graves. He stared into Gellert and, after a few moments, nodded. “What do you have for me?” There was trepidation in his voice. Gellert had first made this special thing sound like a gift, something to be bestowed upon Credence, whether it was a present or whether it was a new lesson, but something pleasant all the same. Now, he was warning Credence not to be worried. 

Gellert offered the boy a small smile, thanking him for his trust without words. He cupped the back of Credence’s head and stroked his thumb beside the boy’s ear, using his touch to inspire further calm. “I think it would be better that I show you. Then you’ll understand. But I’ll need your cooperation. Do you think you can do that? Will you trust me?” 

Without Graves lingering behind them, Credence would have nodded right away. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten what Gellert had done to him in the past, but he’d laid his life in Gellert’s hands now, and Credence was nothing if not loyal. Sometimes blindly so. 

The grass crunched under Graves’s foot behind them. He was listening carefully, and worried. More worried than Credence was. Gellert could feel the man was about to say something, hoping to interrupt them, but then Credence nodded. 

“I’ll do my best,” he said softly, but clearly. 

Gellert cupped his cheeks with both hands. “Very good then.” He rose back to his feet and ignored the way Graves was watching them with concern. Gellert brushed off his trousers and then looked down at Credence. The boy was waiting patiently for his request, putting aside his nervousness in hopes of pleasing Gellert again, in spite of Graves’s lurking. “I need you to let go of your hold on the obscurus,” Gellert told him. 

Instantly, Credence’s eyes widened. A small well of dread pooled in the pit of the boy’s chest. Although he gave no other outward reaction, his arms and legs grew stiff where he stood. 

“Whatever you’re doing, _don’t_ ,” Graves warned from behind. “You don’t know how long he can let that thing out without getting hurt.” 

Gellert’s eyes narrowed. He turned on Graves and fixed the man under his sights with a healthy dose of displeasure. “Did MACUSA not tell you in their reports? Unlike the parasitic cases of obscuri before, Credence’s obscurus causes him no harm. No harm that wasn’t already festering beneath the surface, that is. I have my theories on why not, and you are welcome to counter them at any time, but I’m afraid you’ll only suffer disappointment in the end.” Gellert glanced back down to the boy, hunched back in on himself, worried at what was being asked of him as much as the way the two men were squaring against each other again. “Credence was a very powerful wizard, Percival. He just never had the chance to show it.” 

In spite of the praise, Credence shook his head. Some of the old shame and guilt crept into his mind again. “I can’t let it out. I don’t know how. It just happens. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

It was the last that almost had Gellert smiling. Such turnabout. The boy may not have intended to turn into his obscurus form the few times he’d done it in Berlin, but when it had happened, he’d hardly had had reservations about hurting Gellert. What worries he’d felt had always been about being able to return to his own body, although Gellert could hardly blame him for it after nearly dying. 

“You won’t,” Gellert assured him. “And you won’t be hurt either. You have remarkable control over the obscurus, Credence, even if it doesn’t feel like it when you’re upset.” 

Graves looked from Gellert to the boy, but Credence was speaking up again just as quickly as Gellert finished. “What if it’s worse here?” An edge of panic rose in his voice. “What if I can’t control it at all? What if it’s bigger? Bigger than it was in New York?” 

Gellert saw it in his mind. He’d nearly torn that city to pieces. Credence had no idea how far this world expanded, he had no idea what damage he could do or how far he could go before he was lost. He didn’t even know whether the magic here would allow him to turn back. Every doubt and every worry he’d had over the past week since he’d last turned into the obscurus came crashing down on him. In the middle of it all, Credence feared that he would attack Gellert, or even Mr. Graves, just when he finally didn’t want to any longer. 

Gellert bent down before him again and took the boy’s shoulders in his hands. “Listen to me. It’ll be alright.” He tried to get the boy to understand. “You’ve done this before. You have nothing to fear.” 

Credence just shook his head harder. He knew he wasn’t honouring his word that he would trust Gellert, but he was too afraid. If his magic was so much more powerful in this world, he couldn’t imagine what might happen. And besides that, Credence couldn’t just will it to happen. Every time it had before, he’d needed incentive. And a great deal of it. “I don’t think I can.” 

Gellert sighed. “I think you can.” Behind them, Graves was growing even more uneasy watching what in his mind amounted to Gellert coercing Credence into doing as he asked. He was going to snap soon. Gellert could feel it. “Do you still trust me, Credence?” he asked softly. 

Credence looked torn. He searched Gellert’s eyes, his bottom lip wobbling, and even though he didn’t want to acquiesce, he nodded the affirmative. 

“There’s my boy.” Gellert stood. 

Credence still trembled, hunched so far towards the ground he was almost bent in half. “I still don’t think I can,” he whimpered, an edge of pleading in his voice. 

Graves had had enough. “Stop this _now_.” He surged in an attempt to push Gellert back, away from the boy, but Gellert felt the intent long seconds before he acted. When they collided, Graves was met with Gellert’s hands around his throat, lifting him with a magically amplified strength. Graves wrapped a leg around the back of his knee, and pulled. There was nothing Gellert could have done to prevent it but throw the man off him, and so they both went tumbling to the ground. 

Graves landed a foot away, stunned by a burst of magic. Without hesitating, Gellert crawled over him and wrapped his hands around the man’s throat again. He squeezed with his own strength. It was enough to take Graves’s air slowly. The man fought to shake him off, but with a thought to the forest around them, vines rose from the brambles and twined around Graves’s legs while Gellert’s weight held his waist. 

Not far away, Credence was crying. 

“Would you be sad to see him go, Credence?” Gellert called to the boy. “If I snapped his neck right now, would you miss him? Would you be angry with me?” He grinned down at Graves as he spoke, watching horror draw across the man’s face just like the red, blotchy hue to his skin. “I could make him suffer, all just for you. What do you think?” 

“Please, stop!” Credence wailed back. He was shuddering where he stood, still rooted to the spot where Gellert had left him. If he’d been as tall and as strong as a man, he very likely still would have been standing there, shaking terribly, his terror and insecurity so strong they overwhelmed him. 

It wasn’t just the threat of ending Graves’s life right then and there, it was all Credence’s fears surfacing in Gellert’s questions. 

“Why should I?” Gellert asked, moving his attention back to Graves. Somewhere, deep down inside the man, Gellert felt a tiny, wretched coil of betrayal that Gellert would do this to him and knew Percival didn’t want to feel it, much less admit it. He tightened his grip and leaned closer. “He means so very little to me, after all.” 

Graves gave one last, desperate effort to free himself. He twisted and lashed against the vines as hard as he could, but more slithered around his arms to replace the loosened ones until they could coil tighter still. As tight as Gellert’s hands. 

_This is it,_ he caught from Percival’s mind. He was going to die in a fit of Gellert’s rage and games and he was powerless to stop it. Just as powerless as Credence, if not more so. 

The man’s face was turning purple. Gellert bent closer yet to shush his silent attempts to cry out, to gasp for air. His whole body was tight. Gellert could feel it straining under him, and knew that Percival would not relax until the spark of life left him altogether. In the distance, Credence was sobbing. 

And then he wasn’t. 

Gellert didn’t even notice at first, but Credence’s cries had ended. He barely had time to look up before he was struck with what felt like a sack of bricks and tossed flat on his back in the tall grass. He heard a shout, more like a guttural cry, than an intended one, and saw thorny branches swept up in a whirl of curling, writhing, and twisting blackness. 

He rolled and saw that Graves had been thrown in the opposite direction. His shirt was torn, but he was coughing and _breathing_. 

Gellert leapt to his feet. The mass of black swooped low, but grazed past his head, forcing him to duck down. “ _Yes!_ ” he shouted when he could stand again. He could have jumped watching it fly towards the trees and circle back again, collecting the air around it and making it howl while it lacked a voice. The result was an unearthly sound. Like one might imagine what ghosts should have been, had they been powerful and ethereal enough. It was noticeably bigger than it had been in the flat in Berlin. Not quite as large as it had once been, but it was progress. 

“You did it, Credence!” he called, knowing the excitement in his voice betrayed everything that had just happened as much as it did the way Credence must feel now. 

It swooped low again, coming at him with such force the wind alone threatened to sweep him off his feet again. Graves wasn’t safe either, however. The man had to throw himself to the ground to get out of its way. 

“Now, for my gift to you,” Gellert called again, undaunted by the obscurus’s rage. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a long sheaf of leather. With one eye on the obscurus and the other on his task, he unwrapped it until the bone pipe was bare in his hands. He tossed the leather to the side and watched the cloud of ink draw towards them again. 

“You _meant_ this to happen,” Graves accused him, voice rasping. 

Gellert ignored him and waited for the obscurus to make another swoop, this time throwing black tendrils at Gellert’s arms and legs that he had to block with a shield of magic. Once it passed, he raised the pipe to his lips and drew out one long note. 

At first, nothing happened. The obscurus swung around the trees’ edge, clipping their tops and making leaves fly just as it had done on the last several passes, but then Gellert began to play. 

The tune began slowly. He had had to think carefully on what to play in order to find a balance between sweet, gentle notes without drawing upon the well of sadness within the creature. He kept it light and long, and sometimes fluttering between the scales of the song, picturing soft waves in his mind, lapping upon a shoreline so white it reflected the sun. Something warm. Something Credence would have never experienced in the heat of the New York summers. 

Behind him, Percival drew in a breath. He could not spare attention for the man’s thoughts at the moment, but it sounded as though even he had been struck with the tune. Or perhaps he was reacting to Credence. 

The cloud of roiling tendrils and howling air came around the bend in the clearing again, heading towards them, but it was losing speed. Its great mass, twisting in on itself, was slowing down. The way it lengthened, reaching out for Gellert for another attack, began to droop. It became more of one shape again, sliding gently through the air towards them until it reached where Gellert stood. It hovered there, twisting and turning in motions as slow as the notes of the song. 

When Gellert played trills, it shuddered and rippled like it was experiencing tingles down a human spine. When he played long, even notes, a portion of it arched as though being caressed. Lazily, it floated to his side, lengthening its body and curling around him before coming back together. 

With a trill of notes, he inspired it to turn over, twisting in a leisurely corkscrew pattern. 

Distantly, the echo of Percival’s shock touched his mind, but he tuned it out. No one had ever managed to tame an obscurus before. What Newt and Tina had managed in the station of New York had probably been the closest anyone had ever come on record. 

Holding the pipe aloft and picking up the pace of the song, Gellert moved to the centre of the clearing. He wanted to see what he could do. What they could do together. 

The obscurus followed. It began to move quicker, swishing past him and into the trees for a moment before it wound its way back. He began to find that the song was only half of it. He needed to put his will into the tune in order to express to Credence what he wanted. He could picture the obscurus diving, twirling, tearing through the bush and bramble in its path, and with the right image and the right urgency of melody, Credence acted just as he’d asked. 

When he finally drew the cloud of black ink back to him and lowered the pipe from his mouth, it hung in the air, listless and directionless for a long moment before settling down to the ground and coalescing back into the form of a young boy. 

Gellert crouched down beside the sprawled figure, laying the pipe on the grass and taking Credence into his arms. The boy was dazed, his head lolling on Gellert’s shoulder and his limbs lax in his arms, but aware. He looked like he was coming out of a dream, eyes wavering between Gellert and the blue sky above him. 

“Are you alright?” Gellert asked, holding him gently and squeezing his hand. 

Credence squeezed back. He didn’t appear to be hurt, and a look into his mind confirmed that he wasn’t. It was just taking him a minute to form thoughts again. 

Behind them, Graves approached, concerned, but not wanting to crowd the boy any more than Gellert already was, or alarm him.

“I think so….” Credence blinked, staring at Gellert, and then past him at Graves over his shoulder. Credence’s face twisted, memory coming back to him in full force. His body was still tired, but that didn’t prevent him from turning distraught, accusing eyes upon Gellert. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry, Credence,” Gellert whispered. “I needed to provoke you, only enough. I needed you to see that it would be safe to let the obscurus out. I’m sorry I had to do it in such a way, but that was why I asked you to trust me, even if you were afraid. Do you understand?” 

Credence’s eyes drew back to Graves, and the picture of the man was clear in his eyes. Percival looked just as betrayed as Credence felt, and even more disgusted. “But the things you said—” 

“Were only to draw the obscurus out,” Gellert finished for him. “I know you don’t want Percival to die. I know you care for him and his wellbeing. That doesn’t upset me.” 

Something inside Credence’s chest twisted. It felt a lot like the obscurus stirring, but it wasn’t. Shame and confusion and worry all mixed together in Credence’s mind, having such a hard time believing Gellert after what he’d just done. 

“Eventually, I’m going to need you to let the obscurus out at will,” Gellert explained. “You’re going to have to be strong for me. It’s not going to be easy. And you’re going to have to believe that both you and I aren’t going to be hurt if you do. That’s why I have this.” He plucked up the pipe to show Credence, offering it to the boy to inspect. 

Credence took it with care. His little fingers drew down its smooth surface until they found the holes Gellert’s fingers had played over only moments ago. He covered and opened them one by one, remembering the lulling sound of the music. “This is what you wanted to show me?” 

“With this, you’ll be able to have perfect control. Calm enough to follow a clear objective, yet able to retain the power of the obscurus at the same time. And you’ll be linked to me as well.” Gellert offered him a half smile, hoping Credence would feel it. Mostly, the boy felt numb. “I’ll be able to speak to you through this. You won’t be alone with the pain any longer.” 

Credence wasn’t sure what to say to that. Because Gellert had just tricked him, had just hurt Mr. Graves and convinced Credence the man was going to be killed because of Gellert’s jealousy, only to find that he wasn’t jealous at all. That the whole thing had been an opportunistic ruse. But Gellert had asked for his consent before that, and warned him he might not like what was about to happen. And Credence _had_ given it. Mr. Graves hadn’t, though. 

Credence looked back up at the man, standing behind Gellert and looking pale and helpless. There was a great sadness in his eyes as he met Credence’s, but then Gellert’s hand cupped his cheek and drew Credence’s attention back to him. 

“It’s time to go back. You can get some rest, and think on this tomorrow. We don’t have to do that again.” Gellert petted Credence’s hair the way he liked. “Do you think you can get up?” 

Credence nodded and let Gellert help him to his feet. The boy let Gellert take his weight just long enough to get his bearings, and then made sure he could stand by himself. 

When they turned back, Gellert found himself under the very cold stare of Graves. All sorts of suspicions ran through the man’s mind, most of them not far off the mark. Gellert could have easily taunted the man further, but settled at letting their eyes meet. For Credence’s sake, Percival didn’t say anything. He knew Gellert was likely listening in, but he still wasn’t going to say it aloud. Not until they were in private. 

Gellert led the way back to the boat, and by the time they arrived, the sun was low in the sky. It would mean that it was past nightfall in their own world. They all donned their heavy coats and scarves, preparing for the chill before they climbed into the small boat. 

Not a word was said between the three of them the entire way back. They apparated back to the outskirts of Berlin and walked in the darkness in silence. Graves stayed on Credence’s other side, but kept close to the boy out of some misguided protective instinct. His mind was cold and angry and, to Gellert’s surprise, touched with a sense of hopelessness that was not common to the man. Credence, by contrast, felt hollow and still somewhat used, nervous for Graves’s wellbeing, but the turnabout in the end was chipping away at all that. By morning, Gellert suspected the boy would feel better about things, especially if he received more assurance that Gellert had not truly intended to accuse him and hurt Graves. 

By the time they entered the flat, no one but Gellert had any sense of how the rest of the night would go. All they knew was that they were very, very tired. 

Removing the borrowed coat and gloves, Percival glanced down the hall at the room with his bed and his chains as weariness began to overtake him. He made a decision. “I’m going to go to bed.” 

Credence looked up in surprise, both at Graves announcing what he was going to do without being told and the fact that he was willingly going back to his room. Gellert laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him. 

Graves did not wait for Gellert’s approval before he left the pair in the hall, closing the door behind him. 

When he was gone, Credence looked up to Gellert, fears that Graves was still hurt and upset coalescing in his mind. Gellert put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, knowing Credence was tired, too, knowing the boy didn’t want to stay up and talk about what he’d been through earlier, knowing that he didn’t even want to think about what Gellert had done, but that his thoughts might turn back to what it felt like as the obscurus that day. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll join you later, hm?” 

Slowly, Credence nodded. He wasn’t particularly comfortable being around Gellert at the moment, but he wasn’t totally comfortable with the thought of Gellert leaving him alone that night either. “Are you going to check on Mr. Graves?” Credence asked, catching onto Gellert’s intentions without the aid of legilimency. 

Gellert offered him a small smile. “I am.” He wanted the boy to know he wasn’t going to be entirely cruel to their guest, and that he had meant it when he’d told Credence he wasn’t really angry. Unfortunately, Credence’s emotional state was still too flat for it to sink in. “Don’t worry,” Gellert touched his cheek, “I won’t be too long.” 

Credence nodded when Gellert let him go. He went off to change into his night clothes and wash up—a routine that required little thought and little feeling. It had taken nearly a full week to get Credence used to using the products in the toilet himself, and indulging in a routine about it, but the boy didn’t question it or feel guilty for taking Gellert’s things any longer. 

Gellert stopped in his room to remove the more cumbersome pieces of clothing. His waistcoat, tie, and cuff links were all put away until he was nearly ready for bed himself. On the way out, he checked that Credence was still washing up and brushing his teeth and would not be bothered if Gellert disappeared for a little while. The boy seemed to be stable enough, which was a good sign. 

When Gellert opened Graves’s door, he found the lights out and the man already in bed. The dark figure turned away from him immediately, but Gellert did not let the action deter him. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Percival’s mind was restless while Gellert slipped off his shoes and left them beside the door. Unease drifted through the room like waves, increasing when Gellert treaded closer. Percival could hear his steps, light as they were, against the wood. He could practically feel the man’s stomach twisting. 

Even that didn’t stop Gellert from pulling back the covers. He slipped in behind Percival and drew himself up close. He caught stray flashes of thought from Percival’s mind—that Gellert was there to mock him, possibly even attack him again, quietly wrap his hands around Percival’s throat and strangle the life out of him while Credence slept in the other room. 

“Shhh…,” Gellert whispered behind the man’s ear. He would have none of that. He laid his hand on Percival’s arm, just so the man was ready for his touch, and then gently drew it down his side. Gellert stroked along Percival’s side all the way down to his hip, and then back again. His thumb drew along the man’s spine on every other pass. He made it slow and methodical, and every touch Percival could feel coming. He did not try to loosen the man’s rigid muscles, simply provide soothing touches along them. 

“I’m not Credence,” Percival rasped after some time. He imagined Gellert doing this with the boy every night, and he kept his frame rigid, thoughts clinging to everything Gellert had revealed that day. Everything Gellert may be planning for the future. 

“I know.” Gellert didn’t stop. The pace of his hands remained uninterrupted, slow as it was. 

He didn’t say anything more than that, and Percival didn’t let himself relax, but Gellert’s gentle hands continued their soothing pattern down his body well into the night.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, Credence awoke to the sun warming his face. He was comfortably nestled inside a pile of blankets and had slept soundly the whole night through. So soundly, in fact, that it wasn’t until he turned and stretched that he realised Gellert was not in the bed with him. This wasn’t immediately alarming, although Gellert usually preferred to wake Credence and demand that he rise whenever Gellert did, even if it meant the man was going to leave after breakfast to see to his daily duties. It was not often that he let Credence sleep in, though it had happened before. 

Credence’s comfort was dampened only a little at finding himself alone, however. Gellert had come to bed late the night prior, but he had held Credence in his arms and kissed him and apologised over and over for what he’d done across the Bridge that day. He’d done so until Credence’s coldness had melted little by little, until the boy had nothing left but his tiredness. He felt as though he had been boneless in Gellert’s arms, and finally the cold inside him began to warm. It must have warmed quite a lot, for all trace of it but the slight sense of Gellert’s absence was gone this morning. All he was left with was the vague weight of remembered hurt. 

That in itself was strange, he thought as he turned back over and pulled the covers around him tighter, burying his face into the pillow to enjoy the comfort of the bed just a little longer. Credence was not used to the sensation of hurt being resolved. He was not used to things turning out ok. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for what might have been another hour before finally pulling himself out of bed. In a fog of sleepiness, he made his way to the bathroom and washed up for the day. Gwendoline, as usual, somehow knew when he was awake and began preparing breakfast, which he found set at the table for him once he was dressed. He never knew how she managed it. Most often he never even saw her. 

He glanced at the table and then back at the hall. Mr. Graves’s door had been closed when he’d passed it. Credence didn’t know what had happened to the man last night, nor what he and Gellert had talked about when Gellert went to see him, but Credence had heard no arguments and Gellert had not suggested any further injury had befallen Mr. Graves. 

“Gwendoline,” Credence called softly, and just like that, the little elf popped into the room with a short bow. “Can you make breakfast for Mr. Graves, too?” Credence felt bad for asking her to do more, but he would have felt worse eating while knowing Mr. Graves hadn’t, especially after what had happened to him the day before. Gellert had fought with him, had said the things he had, because of Credence. Credence couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in large part responsible. 

“Yessir, of course, sir,” the elf replied and scurried back into the kitchen, taking out bowls and pans and ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator. She had made Credence pancakes with strawberries on the side, and he hoped she would make the same for Mr. Graves, but he dared not dictate her work too much. 

He sat and ate while she worked, planning to be finished by the time he served breakfast to Mr. Graves so that he would not have to stay and make conversation for anything more than an apology regarding yesterday. The man deserved that much from him. Deserved more from him, Credence knew. Far more. Mr. Graves deserved his freedom, and the thought twisted in Credence’s gut with every syrupy bite he ate. 

When he was nearly finished, he caught Gwendoline heading out of the kitchen with a covered tray balanced between her little arms. 

“Wait,” Credence called. “I can take that. You don’t have to. I have to talk to Mr. Graves anyway.” He bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t offended the elf, or she hadn’t received any new instructions from Gellert to keep Credence away from Mr. Graves that Gellert had failed to mention to him. 

His worries were unfounded, however. The elf turned to him and smiled her thanks before offering him the tray. “Master Credence is so kind. Gwendoline is grateful he is so considerate to an elf.” 

“It’s…really nothing,” he tried to deflect, feeling incredibly awkward and undeserving of her praise. He often did when interacting with her in passing. But he took the tray and knew even greater discomfort laid ahead of him as he headed down the hall to Graves’s door. 

With the tray set precariously under one arm and his hip, Credence knocked. He doubted he could be waking the man. It was already late in the morning, if not noon yet. “Mr. Graves?” he called, surprised his determination offered him the courage to speak so confidently. 

He didn’t have to wait long before he heard a faint “Come in,” called from the other side. Credence furrowed his brow, not remembering the muffling charm on the door to be that quiet, but he did as asked and opened the door. 

He found Mr. Graves sitting on the couch, legs splayed out over one side. He was dressed and appeared rested, but refrained from moving very much as Credence brought in the tray and set it down for him. “I thought you might be hungry,” Credence explained, stepping back once he’d put down his offering. “And I. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.” 

It was difficult meeting Graves’s eyes, staring up at Credence from under thick brows so intensely that Credence had to look down at the floorboards. 

“You didn’t do this to me, Credence.” 

There was something wrong with Mr. Graves’s voice. It sounded softer than he meant it to be, with a rasping edge to it. Credence looked up and realised he had not noticed the purplish bruising around the man’s throat, just above his collar. Credence shouldn’t have been so shocked. He saw with his own eyes the way Gellert had handled the man, and he knew very well what bruises looked like. He’d just never imagined them upon Mr. Graves before. 

He must have looked horrified because Mr. Graves leaned forward and held out his hand, beckoning Credence over to him with imploring eyes. Credence hesitated, but he made the gesture again and Credence either had to obey or accept that he may be sorry, but not sorry enough to sit next to the man.

Credence found he couldn’t do that. With eyes averted, he shuffled around the table and sat on the other end of the couch after Graves moved his feet out of the way. Credence had hoped a standing apology would do. That he could somehow convey how sorry he was and how he would try very hard to prevent anything like that from happening again, even if he still didn’t understand why Gellert was keeping Mr. Graves there and whether the man really would be safe regardless of Credence’s presence. 

But Mr. Graves sat there, considering him, before looking down at his plate. He looked happier to see food today than he’d done the past couple. “You’re so diligent about making sure I have a decent breakfast,” Mr. Graves told Credence with the hint of a smile. 

Credence couldn’t understand why the man kept forgiving him so easily. He’d never even known Credence. If what Gellert said was true, and Mr. Graves hadn’t so far said otherwise, they’d never even met. Gellert suggested the man was fond of him, but Credence couldn’t see why. He watched Mr. Graves pick up his fork and dive into the pancakes, waiting patiently while the man ate for whatever reason Mr. Graves had him stay. But Graves didn’t say right away. The silence between them wasn’t as tense as the day prior, and Credence waited until Graves was finished. 

The man pushed aside his empty plate and took up his tea, taking a few sips before relaxing back into the couch and, finally, regarded Credence. For a long moment, Graves just stared at him, hand rubbing the stubble over his chin. It took a while before Credence realised Mr. Graves might be carefully trying to think of what to say. The last time they spoke alone, he’d tried to beg his help in escaping, and when that failed, to warn Credence away from Gellert. Credence began to pick at the hem of his shirtsleeve. Neither had gone very well. 

“Are you mad at me?” Credence finally asked. He knew Graves kept saying he wasn’t, but…. 

Graves shook his head. “No. I’m not. I was just thinking.” Mr. Graves had eyes that looked warmer than Credence remembered. At least when he was staring off like he was. Maybe Gellert had held the man’s features differently when he wore them. It was something subtle, but when Credence noticed it, he couldn’t ignore it. “This is a lot like when he held me in my own apartment.” 

Credence bit his lip and prepared for Graves’s voice to turn hard, maybe even work himself up so that he really did get angry, but the man continued in the same thoughtful, gentle tone. 

“I fought him at first. He’d taken my wand away and put wards up on the apartment so that I couldn’t call for help, but he didn’t hurt me.” Mr. Graves set the tea in his lap and chewed on his next words. “I didn’t have these fancy bracelets. He let me have wandless magic back there. I still don’t know if it was to make me feel better at the time or if he really thought there was no chance I’d be able to stand up to him with it. Either would have been true.” Graves ran a hand over his face. “I tried to ambush him at first. I tried to fight him, but it wasn’t much of a fight. I am no slouch when it comes to magic, but he is incredibly powerful, Credence. Remember that.” 

Credence didn’t know why the man was telling him any of this, but Graves was looking at him with that edge of desperate hope again and all Credence could do was nod. 

Graves took a breath and forced himself to relax again. “Anyway. It was a lot like this.” Graves looked around. Perhaps he was emphasising the point. Perhaps he was trying to find something different. “He’d leave during the day without telling me what he was up to, but I could figure out some of it. He was using my face. He was impersonating me. I had thought at the time that he was getting secrets out of MACUSA, learning our weaknesses, copying our files, trying to wreak havoc in our departments or possibly even plant his own men in our ranks, but I had no idea that there could be more. No idea he was there looking not for intelligence on our defences, but for you.” Graves swallowed. “I, _very naively_ , didn’t think that anyone’s life would be in danger for the moment. Not while he was there to collect information. Not while he was hiding. I knew that would come later, one way or another. I knew I would have to deal with whatever he had done after he left, but I…. He was unexpectedly kind. Very often. A good conversationalist. Charming, even. Tempting. And I spoke to no one else for a very long time.” 

Mr. Graves was frowning into his teacup. Credence had the sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going now. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it. He wasn’t sure if Graves would regret telling him, or how he might feel if the man did go on. He hadn’t asked Gellert for details about what Graves had implied the day prior. 

“It was too easy to…. That is to say, things weren’t….” Graves sighed. Whatever he was saying was difficult to express, and he looked frustrated with himself. “He is very hard to say no to. Especially when he wants something from you. And if you’re at all inclined to give it, even by a fraction…well.” Graves was avoiding Credence’s eyes just as much as Credence had been avoiding his. 

Graves paused, sighed, and took a sip of his tea. Finally, although Credence could not have said what changed, the man relaxed. “He’d tease me at first.” He still wasn’t looking at Credence, but now he was looking into the distance as though remembering rather than avoiding. “He liked it when I was riled up, or angry over something. He never did threaten my life, although I had every reason to believe that it could be in danger, if not one day then the next, or the day after, or when he was finally finished with his plans. But as time passed and that never happened…. I guess I became comfortable with it.” Graves rubbed his hand over his mouth in thought. 

“Whenever I got it in my head to escape, he defended himself, knocked me down, did whatever he had to do, but no more than that. It turned into…hm. It turned into something of a game for him, I think. I didn’t realise it at first, because it wasn’t for me. But he was playful about it, whenever he caught me. He’d pin me down and tease me, and I…,” Graves took a breath. If Credence wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint tinge of red in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. “I enjoyed that far more than I should have. More than any captive should rightfully feel. I never liked being afraid. I never liked letting anyone be able to hold that over me, so I told myself that’s what it was. That I grew less and less afraid of him the more he teased me and touched me because I wasn’t playing his game.” Graves shook his head. A self-deprecating smile graced his features. “It turned out that I wasn’t any braver than the next man. I just wanted what he was offering, and he lulled me into a sense of security enough to let myself want it.” 

Credence’s heart was sinking by the minute. He knew why Graves was telling him this. It was plainly obvious. Everything he said was familiar. But Credence had thought he wasn’t a prisoner here anymore. He had thought he was special. Gellert had taken him all the way across the world. Gellert had been searching for him all this time. He hadn’t wanted Credence when he thought Credence hadn’t been the obscurial. But he didn’t think Gellert was faking this kind of affection for him now. 

He was wringing his hands together before he knew it. “W-why would he…?” He didn’t have the right words. Credence had never been with anyone before. He’d barely let himself think about it, and never, _ever_ try it with a man. It was always wishful thinking, nothing more. He didn’t know the kinds of words people had for real relationships, not the idealised ones he usually imagined. All he knew were the proper ones that Mary Lou had taught him, and the only names for the kinds of things he wanted were vile. 

Mr. Graves swallowed and gave a small shrug. “He uses people. He likes it. He likes twisting people into following him, and that’s one way he does it, apparently.” 

Credence was frowning. The pressing weight in his chest was getting bigger, deeper. “You don’t think he means it?” After all Credence had gone through to finally feel safe, to feel wanted, and with Gellert, with a man Credence had wanted for so long—with a _man_ —Mr. Graves was telling him that he wasn’t at all as special as he thought he was. Maybe he was still the obscurial, but…. But on the other hand, Graves could be lying. Credence didn’t actually know him. He had every reason to want Credence to distrust Gellert. “Why are you telling me this?” 

The corner of Graves’s mouth turned up, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was clear he could hear the scepticism in Credence’s voice. “Because you should know. If he didn’t tell you already. I don’t know why he’s brought me here, or kept me alive for that matter, but it seems like a pattern to me.” Graves gave a heavy sigh. “In New York, with me, it felt like he was passing the time. _Indulging_.” He gave another shrug. “I felt the same. I made it clear I wasn’t going to join him. He knew that. We both knew we were still enemies and we’d go back to that if he ever did let me out of there. But you…I don’t think you have that dynamic. And I don’t particularly like the things he seems to be omitting to you.” 

Credence scowled. “What would you know, then?” he shot back, angrier than he’d meant to. He couldn’t help it. “What do you know what he’s told me and what he hasn’t? And if it’s different, then why are you telling me this at all?” He couldn’t convey what he wanted to. He knew Gellert was using him, for his power and for…a certain kind of intimacy, but Credence had _agreed_ to it. That Graves seemed to think he could just tell Credence all this and he would betray Gellert—Credence didn’t know how to feel about that, but he didn’t like it. But he didn’t like the similarities in Graves’s story, either. 

Credence couldn’t sit there anymore. He could feel his insides threatening to catch fire. If he let it burn, he would lose control. He stood and tried to think of anything else he could possibly say to Mr. Graves before he stormed out, but the man caught his wrist before he could run. 

“Did he tell you he can read minds?” Graves stared into him as he asked. “That he’s been reading you all this time? That he can hear every one of your thoughts so long as you’re close enough, especially looking into your eyes?” 

Credence stopped. He felt like he’d been thrown off kilter. He felt himself blink and knew from the way Graves held him fast that he must look shocked. Gellert had, in fact, never mentioned such a thing. 

“Can all wizards do that?” Credence asked, trembling. “Are you reading my mind right now?” Mr. Graves was staring so fixedly into him that, if it was true, Credence was sure his every secret, every horrible, terrible thought must be open to the man. Every sinful thing he’d ever done with Gellert, or wanted from the Mr. Graves he thought he knew. Or even worse, all the hateful, awful things he wished in spite on people who’d looked down on him, mistreated him, or even simply had it better than him and flaunted it in front of him to his misery. Credence was a creature of barely leashed control, always. He never wanted to feel these things. He hated feeling them, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop. He was ashamed to admit it. 

“Hey, no. No.” Mr. Graves reached out and took hold of Credence with both hands. His voice turned soft in an instant. He looked surprised, like he hadn’t anticipated Credence’s sudden bout of fear and trembling. “It’s alright. I’m not. It’s not a common talent. Usually it can only be mastered with years of practise. I’m better at shielding my mind than stealing into others’.” Mr. Graves took Credence’s hands in his own and rubbed them together. It was a thoughtless, comforting gesture, the same he might have done if Credence were cold. 

Credence nodded. He _felt_ chilled at the thought of Mr. Graves reading his mind, but he supposed he had no way of knowing whether the man was or wasn’t. And Gellert…. If it was true, that would mean that Gellert had seen every one of his worst thoughts already, possibly used that knowledge to draw Credence closer, and never mentioned them. It was an unsettling thought. 

“You really can’t read my mind?” Credence felt ridiculous asking that, like he might have been the most gullible person in the world for even believing it possible, but then again, anything seemed possible now. 

Mr. Graves shook his head. “Never been one of my talents, I’m afraid.” 

He offered Credence a smile to break the mood, and Credence couldn’t help but feel relieved. At just that, at least. He nodded and, reluctantly, pulled his hands away from Mr. Graves. “I should be going.” He felt like he should thank Mr. Graves, that that would be the polite thing to do, and yet he didn’t want to. This was all knowledge he wasn’t sure he wanted. And he still didn’t want to betray Gellert. It felt like reflex now. He’d never felt that way for Mary Lou, nor anyone. His care for Modesty even paled in comparison, not because he hadn’t loved Modesty, but because she had never demanded more from him than simple care. Gellert demanded everything from him. Things Credence didn’t even know he could give. But the man hadn’t cast him away yet, either, and Credence had begun to hope that he never would. 

He smoothed down the front of his shirt, took a breath, and stepped away from Mr. Graves. “I’ll take your plate.” Graves didn’t try to stop him, but he could tell the man was reluctant to see him go. And probably wondering whether his warning meant anything to Credence at all. Or whether Credence would do anything about it. He gave Mr. Graves a tight smile, an attempt at one at the very least, and wondered the same. 

When Credence left again, he kept the door open, deciding that Mr. Graves would probably appreciate it. 

Appreciate it, he did. It was one tiny gesture, and yet it made a world of difference to Percival. The boy had, literally and metaphorically, not shut him out. Even though Credence had not embraced his warnings, either. It was something. It was something that stared Percival in the face, enabling him to look down the hallway and see the sunlight pouring in on the other side, imagining Credence having gone back to the couch with his pile of books. He wondered for a second as to whether Credence practised while he read, but remembered what the boy had told him about his attempts at performing magic in their world. 

For the rest of the day, Percival only saw Credence twice more as he passed into the hallway for various things. Both times Credence stopped to ask whether he was hungry or thirsty, and both times Percival had taken him up on the offer of food, but the boy didn’t stick around long enough to be lured into conversation again. Which was unfortunate. Percival found that he liked the boy’s company, strange and quiet as he was. 

He hadn’t known what to expect if he ever had had the chance to meet Credence Barebone, but the photographs could not have prepared him for it. The boy’s presence wasn’t anything spectacular, not really, but there was a quality to him, one that Percival couldn’t quite pinpoint. He would have called it ‘honest’, for lack of a better term. Credence looked and acted like glass, yet there was a steadfast something to him that Percival glimpsed only occasionally. And frankly, most of the time he didn’t even need to be able to read Credence’s mind to imagine what he was thinking. The boy had been transparent. The only emotion Credence seemed to have trouble expressing was happiness. But then again, Percival had witnessed that, too. Unfortunately, often when Grindelwald was present, but he chose to disregard that detail for the time being. When Credence was enjoying something, it seemed to take him a while to work up to showing it, but Percival _had_ seen it. Beyond the Bridge, Credence had been in his element. 

That was a whole other issue. Grindelwald had found, and managed to cross, a Bridge. It sent chills down Percival’s spine to think about it. Not many children with his upbringing forgot the legends behind the bridges. Stories of the Fae kind who could walk the globe at will and bring pestilence and disease with them wherever they had a grudge, or warm springs and abundance wherever they were welcomed pricked at his memories. Long distant they may have been at his age, he could vividly see the paintings in his mother’s old tomes in his mind and feel the texture of the parchment under his hands as they turned page after page together. 

He couldn’t very well separate fact from fiction, however. In truth, he didn’t know who could. Some dusty old historians, perhaps, but not himself and not anyone he knew. Even if he did escape, the circumstances regarding the Bridges left him with very few resources to call upon. The old families liked to hoard their knowledge, when they had it, and they paid the price heavily generations later when that knowledge was either lost to time or had become so entwined with myth and legend it was indistinguishable. Percival strongly suspected his own family had done the same. They had their heirlooms and their grimoires, solid things that had somehow lasted the centuries, but far too many of these old legends for Percival to believe their origins hadn’t been corrupted by the passage of time. 

All he knew was that if Gellert Grindelwald had managed to be the sole wizard in their day and age to wield such power, the rest of the world would have a very hard time stopping him. 

The weight of that had settled into him that morning, somewhat. Percival had thought about all the people he’d left behind at MACUSA and all the people at the conference in Paris, all scurrying to catch hold of whatever Grindelwald was up to. Wherever he struck next, they wanted to be there, believing they could contain him and his small contingent of followers. Growing contingent, perhaps, but still relatively small. 

They had no idea. 

And then there was Credence. This littler version of Credence had walked into his room, tentative and concerned, and now, Percival began to think about all the people, the regular people, going about and living their lives, back in New York. In Paris. Even there in Berlin. All these people who may have heard the name Grindelwald in barroom conversation and heated talks of politics, and none of them knew how vulnerable they were. Credence both reminded him of them, and yet none of them were at all like Credence. Percival had the feeling that boy knew exactly how vulnerable he was. It was probably one of the reasons why he was so afraid of giving Percival and his warnings about Grindelwald any ground. 

That didn’t leave Percival many options. 

He sighed and sank down into the couch. Spending his days like this wasn’t helping. He had just been getting used to having something to do again. A purpose. That had been quickly ripped out of his hands when he found himself unceremoniously dumped back into empty rooms without even his own books to occupy his time. He couldn’t spend every hour in the day napping and waiting for those scant few moments when he may have the opportunity to free himself. Percival was methodical, he was patient, but he never was very good at doing nothing. 

He was lying on his back after an unsuccessful attempt at letting the time pass without thinking, and ended up staring into the empty hallway. “Credence.” His voice was still tight, still raspier than it should have been, but he was able to let it carry. 

After a minute, the boy’s dark head poked around the corner. Credence liked getting his bearings before he walked into Percival’s room, apparently. When he finally caught sight of Percival, horizontal on the couch, Credence came to the door and stopped just outside of it. “Yes, Mr. Graves?” His voice was ever so polite, and ever so soft. 

“Are you studying?” Percival asked, deciding not to move for the moment. He probably looked a lot less threatening on his back, looking up at the boy. 

Credence nodded, his eyes searching Percival’s face like he was looking for a catch or a clue as to why he was asking. Percival had never heard anyone study as silently as Credence Barebone before. 

“Would you like some help?” Percival asked, hoping he didn’t sound like he had an ulterior motive. “Why don’t you bring your books in here, and I can go over the basic spells with you?” 

Credence cocked his head and gave Percival a look that very plaintively told him the boy was wondering why he wanted to help. Credence looked down and scuffed his toe against a floorboard. “I don’t know. I usually like being alone when I’m reading. And it might be dangerous if I try to do magic.” The last was added on quietly, like Credence might be more embarrassed about the state of his magic than truly worried for Percival’s safety. 

Percival sighed and turned onto his side on the couch, better to face Credence straight. “I’m really, very bored. I’m not used to this. I’m used to working, having things to do, being active in some way.” He hoped he made a pitiful enough image, because he did feel so. Restlessness made his skin itch. Even reading alone would give him trouble when he knew Grindelwald was out there building his “revolution”. The presence of another person would calm his mind. The presence of Credence, whom, like it or not, Percival felt invested in, would be better. 

Credence frowned at that. He probably hadn’t been expecting Percival to give him such an answer. He looked a little guilty, even. “I…I suppose I could…,” Credence looked around, trying to decide if he was really up for that much human interaction, “maybe bring my books in here?” It came out as a question, even though he was acquiescing to Percival’s suggestion. 

Percival gave him a small smile. “I’d appreciate it.” He wanted Credence to know that. The boy’s presence _would_ honestly make his time in this room easier. He sat up slowly and stretched his shoulders. He didn’t have to clear much space for Credence to join him. He had nothing to take up the space. 

“Alright.” Credence was visibly nervous, but he nodded his head and left to get his books and presumably, his wand. 

Percival hadn’t even thought of that until just then. His jaw nearly slackened at the realisation. Credence hadn’t been able to perform magic with it, but it was still a _wand_. Even with his chains, if he could lay his hands on it and it yielded to his will, he had a chance of getting free. Percival’s heart began to pound in his chest the scant minute Credence was away, until the boy returned and he had to make his face as impassive as it was before. 

Credence, however, was carrying an armful of books, but not his wand. As quickly as it had risen, Percival’s heart plummeted. He let the boy lay the books in a neat stack upon the table and settle down at the opposite end of the couch before Percival addressed it. “You’re not going to be practising?” 

Credence paused opening one of the spell books. He looked uncertain. “I can’t do it here.” 

He’d told Percival that before, and he’d believed Credence then. He still believed the boy now, but he hadn’t expected him to simply stop trying. “It sounds like you’ve been getting stronger on the other side. Would it not make sense that you may be getting stronger here, too? Are you really going to give up so quickly?” Percival couldn’t help but be indignant on Credence’s behalf, regardless of the wand. 

To Percival’s dismay, however, Credence bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. The boy looked chastised rather than encouraged. 

Percival decided to take a different track. He sat back against the couch and put on an air of nonchalance. “So you’re worried that nothing will happen? Or that it’ll just go wrong again, or you’ll accidentally hurt me or yourself? If I stand behind you, I should be perfectly safe. And if you make a mess, than you make a mess. This isn’t my room, and Grindelwald can fix it. If he wants to take on a pupil, then let him deal with the consequences. And if nothing happens at all, then so what? You won’t have lost anything.” 

Credence seemed to be thinking that over. He did so quietly and without moving, but his expression grew focused and Percival could tell he was debating the merits of his pride being hurt. Credence’s full lips thinned. “His name is Gellert,” the boy said, quietly, but clearly. 

Percival could feel his face fall. He hadn’t expected that to be the boy’s reaction, and his stomach sank by degrees. He swallowed, knowing he would have to give Credence an honest reply, even to a statement the boy made out of spite and loyalty. Percival supposed his own comment had been out of spite, although he considered it very well deserved. 

“I know it is,” Percival said, matching Credence’s calm tone, “but I’ve never called him that.” 

Credence looked up, brows drawn. He searched Percival’s face. “Why not? If you were…. If you were intimate. You said he was the same way with you as he was with me.” A hint of a challenge entered the boy’s tone. Light as it was with someone so small, it was still noticeable. 

Percival couldn’t very well tell the boy it was because Grindelwald’s ploy hadn’t worked on him. He couldn’t bring Credence’s self-esteem even further down like that, nor could he entirely deny that he had been immune. He’d managed to keep some control over himself, even if he had indulged in other ways he knew he should be regretting. “I knew it wouldn’t last. One way or another.” 

Credence’s cold gaze softened somewhat. Percival may have started to suspect, deep down, that Grindelwald didn’t really want to kill him in the end, but his higher brain wouldn’t let him rule out the potentiality. Credence should understand that. Slowly, the boy nodded. His silence told Percival that he, however, did want it to last. 

“Okay,” Credence finally said. 

It took Percival a moment to realise the boy was talking about getting his wand before he rose to his feet and disappeared down the hall. When Credence returned this time, it was with the deep mahogany wand in hand. Long and carved at a swooping angle, it looked nearly too big for the boy as he stood tentative in the doorway. But Credence’s grip was strong, and the wand did not otherwise look particularly unmatched to his character. If he were in his rightful form, it would have fit him perfectly. 

Percival calmed the beating of his heart at the sight of it and beckoned the boy over. To his relief, Credence came willingly and with little hesitation. He wasn’t sure whether the boy had considered that Percival may be able to use the wand or not, or whether Credence knew that was a possibility at all. If he had, he might not have brought it into the room so readily. 

Credence sat back down at his end of the couch and placed the wand beside his stack of books. “I really haven’t been able to do much with it,” Credence tried to emphasise once again. “Gellert helps when he’s home, but when I practise by myself, it doesn’t work as well.” 

Shifting where he sat, Percival forced himself to ignore the wand itself for the moment. He didn’t know how things would go if it worked. He would still have to get through the wards, which were likely set to alarm Grindelwald to his presence leaving the apartment, and Credence, who might make a run for it if Percival attempted to free himself. He wanted to do everything he could not to hurt the boy, and in truth he could probably manage that fairly easily, so long as Credence didn’t turn into the obscurus. But that was a risk, too. Putting the boy to sleep and dealing with the consequences of his betrayal later was probably the best option. 

“Why don’t you show me what you’re working on?” Percival prompted instead. 

Credence opened the first volume of the Standard Book of Spells to the very first spell. “All of it,” he said, somewhat tightly. “I can’t do any of them here, so I’ve been reading about theory a lot. I thought maybe that could be part of the problem, that if I knew more about how it was done, then I could do it the right way, but it doesn’t seem to be working.” Credence visibly drooped. “I do like reading about theory, though,” he amended, and Percival could tell he wasn’t just being polite. 

Slowly, Percival nodded, thinking. “When you said Grindelwald is with you, it’s easier? How is it easier?” 

Credence shrugged, unsure how to describe it. “He…puts his hand over mine and helps me with the spell? Just enough, I think?” The boy clearly wasn’t sure exactly what Grindelwald was doing, but he must have had a fair idea. Either helping Credence along with some of his own magic, or using his magic in a manner to stabilise Credence’s, Percival assumed. That might be the very opportunity he was looking for. 

“Would you like me to help, if I can?” He couldn’t just grab the boy’s wand, not without an appropriately bad reaction from Credence. But this would be all he’d need. 

Credence thought about it, and then nodded. He looked doubtfully at Percival’s wrists, probably wondering how he intended to help Credence at all if he couldn’t use his own magic, but Credence didn’t deny him. Maybe the boy was just being polite. Or used to letting other people do as they pleased with him, and didn’t that just send a sting of guilt straight down to Percival’s stomach. 

“Okay. I’ve been working on the levitating spell for a while.” Credence pulled a feather from the pages of the book containing the incantation and wand movements for said spell. “I’ve gone through a lot of these.” He must have decided it was one of the least harmful spells he could practise if it went wrong. 

Percival smiled, hoping the boy would relax as much as he could. “Why don’t you show me how it goes on your own, and then we can see from there how best I can help?” 

Credence didn’t look any more enthusiastic. His mouth thinned, but he took a breath and stood, feather in hand. “Okay. It usually doesn’t destroy anything, but it makes a mess.” 

The boy moved around the table while Percival wondered what he meant by that. Credence looked around for something to place the feather on, but there wasn’t much in the room. He placed it upon the table in the end, so Percival rose to move out of the way. He stood off to the side, out of Credence’s range of motion, just in case the boy was still worried about injuring him somehow. 

Once they were in place, Credence took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He looked a lot like he had in the clearing, preparing himself mentally before he attempted what he was about to do. Percival thought that was a good sign, that Credence was reaching for his magic, maybe even knew how it felt if he had been able to feel it there. He wondered if the boy could feel it now, even just an inkling, or if it was altered by his obscurus in this world, and whether that felt different. 

Credence opened his eyes and raised his wand, pointing at the feather before he said the spell and gave it a swish and flick. The motion was smooth and Percival could find nothing wrong with it, nor his pronunciation. The feather, however, lifted jerkily into the air before it was engulfed in a thick, viscous liquid and fell with a splat back down to the table. 

The boy cringed and dropped the wand to his side. He preferred to look at the floor rather than Percival, even when Percival went to the table to look more closely at what had become of the feather. It was painted black all the way through, like Credence’s magic had imbued it with the qualities of the obscurus and it had been too much for the simple matter of the feather to contain. 

When Percival turned back to the boy, Credence still didn’t say anything, or look up at him. The boy looked nearly heartbroken over what he knew had been coming. Probably ashamed to have shown Percival such a thing. Percival couldn’t help but go up to him and, very gently, take Credence into his arms. 

“Hey now, it’s alright,” he heard himself say, unsure whether it was appropriate for him to be doing this, not when Credence had been both touched and used by another man in probably a very similar manner. He could only hope Credence would be able to tell the difference. “Don’t look so shy, huh?” He tried to ruffle the boy’s hair and get Credence to look up at him, and it worked. Credence didn’t seem to be used to anyone touching his hair like that, and it belatedly dawned on Percy that he’d probably been forced to keep it very neat and tidy before. “You got it to rise up. That’s a start. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out what you’re dealing with and how to work through it.” 

Credence looked sceptical at best, so Percival let him go, but stayed as close as he could for comfort. “I haven’t gotten any better than when I first tried,” Credence admitted. Percival knew he was emphasising this to make Percival understand more than Credence wanted to be pitied. The boy seemed wholly uncomfortable about the whole thing. 

“Does the thought of performing magic still make you uncomfortable?” Percival asked gently. It was something that had been lingering in his mind for a while now. It was a miracle Credence could perform magic in any functional manner. He had to wonder how Grindelwald managed to get the boy to even try. 

Credence bit his lip and thought about it. “Maybe. I don’t know. I thought I wanted to learn. Even if I…used to think bad things about magic. I’m not sure I can explain it.” His shoulders hunched, and if Percival wasn’t mistaken, he seemed even guiltier than before. 

“You grew up believing magic was immoral, a thing created by the Devil, didn’t you?” Percival sat down at the arm of the couch, trying to work through what little he’d been told of Credence’s life and behaviour before meeting the boy in person. Tina’s report had held scant details about the boy that were helpful. She hadn’t gotten to know him in the way Grindelwald had. He’d opened up to that man, not to her. But Credence nodded at this, so Percival decided to go on until Credence told him otherwise. “So you never wanted it. You were afraid of it, and when you began to suspect you might have it, you tried to hide it, or repress it, worried that someone else might see?” 

Again, Credence nodded. This was all very in line with how an obscurial was made, to Percival’s knowledge, but it was all he had to start with. 

The way Credence stood, hand clutching his wand tight, shoulders hunched and head bowed, looked more like he was expecting a blow than he was hating himself. Percival chewed at his lip. “But you didn’t want to feel that way, did you?” Credence’s brow furrowed, and Percival went on, slow, careful not to put words in the boy’s mouth without giving him a chance to correct the assumption. “You started to resent everyone who hurt you, punished you, and _he_ came along, he was the only one who accepted you. _All_ of you. Even what you thought would be most hateful, such as your magic. Am I right?” 

Credence looked up, his brows knit together, searching Percival’s face. He was guarded and so stiff Percival was worried he’d offended the boy. He had hoped he could avoid that. To his surprise, and relief, Credence nodded. The boy was warier than Percival had ever seen him, but at least he was willing to admit the truth. 

“I’m not a good person, Mr. Graves,” Credence said softly. “I know I seem innocent. I know bad things have happened to me. But I’ve done bad things, too.” He stood perfectly still, voice flat, eyes averted. Like he was only being honest.

Percival frowned. “You’ve been told you’re a monster, so why not be one? Is that it?” Grindelwald had warped this boy’s mind. How easy it must be to create followers if only he told them they were just as bad as he was. “You don’t have to be, you know. Magic isn’t monstrous. Even the obscurus inside you doesn’t make you monstrous. I know you’ve hurt people, I saw the reports, but you don’t have to keep doing it. You don’t have to let him tell you that’s acceptable.” 

Credence shook his head. “ _He_ told me I wasn’t a freak. He told me that magic was ok.” Finally, he stared back at Percival with defiance in his face. “Do you think it was wrong of me to hurt them?” His fist clenched even tighter around the wand in his hand, but made no further move to act. Credence didn’t yet know what Percival would say. 

In truth, neither did Percival. This was getting out of hand. He couldn’t let the boy storm out with that wand. “What’s happened to them is done, and from what I know of your mother, they may have deserved it. But you don’t have to let it happen again. There are other ways, better ways, of standing up for yourself.” Percival nodded to the wand. “There are spells for defence. Spells for concealment and escape. Spells for healing, even. You can do so much more if you learn how.” 

Credence looked down at the wand. He seemed to be calming a little. Percival may have narrowly avoided the boy’s defencive streak. Credence, however, looked deflated more than hopeful. “And if I can’t learn them?” His tone turned small again. 

The boy had him at that. Percival sighed softly, but he recognised his chance. He held out his hand. “Why don’t you let me see if I can help?” 

Credence looked up at him with those solemn eyes and small, furrowed brows. He didn’t appear to be suspicious or worried, but neither did he appear particularly optimistic. He gave a little shrug, but didn’t hand Percival the wand like he had hoped. “Okay. What spell should I try?” 

“The same.” Percival stood and went to stand behind the boy as Credence found another feather he’d tucked between the pages. There were a few left. No doubt Grindelwald was providing them to him for practise. 

Credence set it on the table next to the soiled one and returned to where Percival stood. He raised the wand and glanced back, eyes searching for Percival to reassure him, of all things, for what they were about to attempt. Percival tried for a smile, and then slowly, carefully, wrapped his hand around Credence’s. 

He closed his eyes before Credence spoke and felt for the boy’s magic. Felt for his own magic. Felt for _anything_ he could use to channel through the wand and free him. But then Credence spoke softly, “ _Wingargium leviosa,_ ” and their hands moved at the boy’s will, a neat swish and flick, and Percival heard a soft, wet squelch, but felt nothing. 

When he opened his eyes, there was another blackened feather upon the table. 

Credence lowered the wand and Percival had to let go or risk being caught out. He chewed at his lip and stared at the feather. Obviously, there had been at least some magic channelled through the thing, but he had not been able to help the way Grindelwald had, nor even detect it. “May I see your wand?” he finally asked, knowing this would likely be his last chance at asking without Credence suspecting an ulterior motive. 

The boy turned and held it out for him. Percival felt almost bad for taking it out of his hand and holding it up before him, as though inspecting the grain of the dark wood, before gripping it in his hand. With everything he had, he drew on the power he knew was inside him and willed it forth through the wand, swishing it through the air with a spell on his tongue. Any spell would do, but his mind supplied the same simple levitation charm Credence had just attempted. 

This time, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not even a spark.

For a long moment, Percival was frozen with dejection, wand still pointed at the table. Until he drew his hand in, swallowed, and loosened his grip. He tried not to let the weight of his failure show on his face, tried to appear as though he was only marginally disappointed that he could not help Credence, but it was a difficult thing. He took a deep breath and looked the wand over again. If it had not helped Credence raise the feather in the air, he would have suspected Grindelwald had given the boy a mere stick. Apparently, however, his bonds were simply powerful enough to restrain him even with a wand. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” Credence said from beside his elbow. “All your magic is gone, isn’t it?” 

The question should have been painful to hear, but somehow Credence’s soft voice was soothing. Percival sighed and handed the wand back to him. “Looks that way.” He gave the boy a tight smile that he didn’t feel. “I’ll probably have to stick to giving you what pointers I can, and let Grindelwald take over the rest. But I’d like it if you kept me company still. Is that ok?” 

The boy looked sorry for him. “That’s ok. I can read in here, if you like.” Credence didn’t appear to know how to comfort anyone very well. He stood stock still, but his face was earnest, and Percival decided that was more than enough. He did not like to be patronised when he was down. 

“Alright. Back to theory it is, then.” He patted Credence on the shoulder and went back to the couch. “You should still keep practising when you can, but I’ll help with your books.” 

Credence followed obediently and sat down next to Percival as he looked through the stack. There was a lot there, ranging from the Standard Book of Spells to theory to history. A few stood out to Percival as choices obviously geared towards creating a picture more favourable to Grindelwald’s ideas, and he set those aside. If Credence wanted to read them, Percival could at least be there to provide counterpoints. 

“So, where have you left off?” Percival asked once he’d looked through them all. 

Credence picked out one of the books on magical theory, opened it and read aloud the chapter. Percival nodded his approval, and together they settled in. He picked up another while Credence read, one of the ones Grindelwald surely favoured, and decided to refresh his memory on the subject, knowing he would have to talk about it with the boy later.

* * *

All day Gellert had been holding meetings in one location after another, slipping out of Germany and into Switzerland, Austria, and back again. His followers were growing, but they were still separated by distance and secrecy between themselves and he knew this would have to change soon. His final leg of the journey was back to Berlin to meet with Thaddeus and his other first officers. 

They informed him of what he already knew and had been confirmed by their chapters in the surrounding countries. They were having more favourable recruitment in rural areas and small villages. News of Director Graves’s desertion and betrayal of MACUSA was spreading far and wide, and not so incidentally acting as a divisive bit of propaganda on its own. It also left many wizarding ministries worried. If such an official in so distant a country as America could turn to Grindelwald’s favour, then who else could follow? Grindelwald’s reach was growing, and the Director’s “desertion” was clear proof of it. 

The only thing Gellert did not appreciate in several of his officers was their desire to stay focused on rural areas where their support was already strong. 

Thaddeus had been arguing half an hour already for strengthening their militia by drawing from such villages, to which Gellert had not been opposed, but he had no intention of stopping there. 

“We cannot remain as a militia, even a trained one,” Gellert told the man in the end. “We need a force trained well enough to replace hundreds of years’ worth of auror tradition. This is going to be a _revolution_ , not simply a demolition of the systems that stand. We need to _replace_ them with something, hence the bureaucracy I’ve imposed on our organisation, headed in Berlin and chaptered all around the world. This is going to grow, and if we do not manage a foothold in the existing government, either by election or by force, our model cannot take over.” 

Thaddeus was a good speaker, a good leader and motivator, but he had spent his efforts rallying only one demographic in one region. He and men like him were the spark the revolution needed—they were relatable and they were strong—but he did not know how to carry their movement beyond its grass roots into the wider world. 

The man sat down, looking frustrated, but cowed. 

“It’s the start we need, but it’s a _start_ ,” Gellert emphasised. “We need ordered demonstrations, not wizards running through the streets shooting fireworks and getting themselves arrested and the town obliviated. We don’t need any more ‘accidental’ muggle deaths. Whatever happens, it needs to be _deliberate_.” 

Those in the room with him were divided mostly by upbringing, whether their families came from the city or the country, but very few by blood. Old families followed power. Most people, in truth, followed power. Divided as they may have been on their own, the methods he employed, the power he demanded, either drew their loyalties, or his ideals did. The more bureaucratic heads in the room focused on a state of the wizarding world that could one day be their own. The men and women like Thaddeus desired little more than the right to govern themselves as they saw fit. Either way, none yet disagreed. 

“I want us to begin organised training. We’ll start with militias and grow from there. I’ll oversee the first. Thaddeus, I want you to take on afterwards.” 

Around the room heads nodded. Gellert caught Arrabella’s mind already buzzing with figures on their chapters, deciding which ones would be most enthusiastic, which would have experience in the war, and which would have the best numbers. 

“We need to build a force that can one day take on the aurors of nations if they are called upon.” Gellert ended all debate there. The meeting turned from the direction of their next step to the details. 

Arrabella offered her thoughts on where to start. Gellert had already been working with several well trained men when they’d needed to exercise force, including Thaddeus. Their training would provide the foundation for these militias. The chapters his followers had recruited would need to start working as a cohesive organisation.

Soon enough, it would be time to bring them out of secrecy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to catch up on responding to comments soon, I swear! In the meantime, thank you everyone for leaving them, and know that I appreciate every one.

Dinner that night was a strained affair. 

Gellert came home looking tired and yet strangely heated all at once. Strangely, because it seemed to contrast with the way he kicked his boots off and threw himself down at the table, calling for Gwendoline. The way he moved reminded Credence of what it felt like to have an electric current running under his skin. That was the only thing he could compare his magic to, when in obscurus form, even though he had no skin for it to run under. Gellert looked like he knew the feeling. He seemed distracted at first, sweeping the room and flexing his jaw like he had been talking for too long, but his posture was slumped and he did not fidget. 

Credence didn’t know much of what he did when he left the apartment, and so he could not determine the cause of such distraction, but once Gellert’s eyes laid on him in the hallway, the man’s mood seemed to calm. It was a strangely satisfying affect to have on such a person. Credence let the thought drift through his mind before he remembered what he’d learnt from Mr. Graves that day, and then suddenly he felt unsure. His breath stopped and he wondered if he shouldn’t have thought that, if there was any way he could take back such a selfish, presumptuous thought, and what Gellert must think of him if he could, in fact, hear it. Gellert was not the sort of person who would appreciate anyone, including Credence, having power over him no matter how insignificant. 

As they stared at one another across the hall, Gellert’s chin dropped and his eyebrows rose, understanding suddenly clear on his face. That single gesture, possibly more than Graves’s words, made Credence believe it was true, Gellert could hear his thoughts, and Gellert was fixed on him, beckoning him to say something. 

Credence was not used to being the one to speak first. Definitely not in a confrontation. He moistened his lips and tried to breathe. There was no point in building up to it, he realised, if Gellert could hear him right then. “It’s true…? You can read my mind?” The whisper carried across the room. Credence just hoped Mr. Graves, back in his own room at the end of the hall, had not overheard. It was unlikely, but he would have felt miserable asking this of Gellert in front of Graves. 

Gellert closed his eyes. He sighed softly and then lifted his hand, palm up, and gestured Credence to him. 

Credence’s heart began to beat faster as he approached, but when Gellert caught his hand and drew him in, lifting him to sit in his lap like he only got to when they were relaxing on the couch or in bed, Credence’s worry began to fade. Gellert wrapped him in a loose embrace with his back to Gellert’s front, but once Credence was settled, he twisted to see the man behind him. It was an urge he couldn’t resist, wanting to see Gellert’s face when he spoke. 

To Credence’s surprise, his expression didn’t appear harsh. He was never soft, exactly, but he did not seem upset. “I can.” A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, that little lift that Credence had grown to believe was real. It appeared in some of their most intimate moments, or after, when Gellert was lazy and satisfied, or had introduced Credence to a new delight he hadn’t ever considered before. “There are limitations, of course, and I cannot control the minds of others. But you have no need to fear for your thoughts, Credence. They do not anger me. I find your mind to be quite a comforting place, actually.” 

Confusion welled within Credence. He just couldn’t believe that. “But I think about awful things. And I-I doubt all the time. Aren’t you upset with me?” 

Gellert’s smile grew and an amused fondness entered his eyes. “Credence, you are one of the most straightforward people I’ve met, even if you never say a word of it aloud.” Gellert traced away the crease in Credence’s brow. “When you are angry, you are angry. When you’re sad, you’re sad. The terrible things you think, the way you imagine hurting people who’ve made you angry, or have wronged you, are not foreign to me. Not at all. I have seen far worse, and done far worse.” 

Credence opened his mouth but found he didn’t have a counter to that argument. “People don’t think like I do. I used to think they must, but they don’t. I get so angry. I can’t control it. I….” He shifted, shame creeping in again. It wasn’t just anger. It was everything. Credence hadn’t known why Modesty and Chastity and the other children who came and went could handle it. 

“You feel more than most.” Gellert stroked his hair. “You have very great fears. Fear of being the wretched, degenerate of a person your mother accused you of being, fear that you’ll never be able to stand up for yourself, fear of being abandoned. You have had very little stability in life, and now you have very little stability in yourself.” 

Credence swallowed. That in itself was something he had always feared, the undercurrent always present in his mind, that he knew he was always just barely holding himself together and he could break apart at any moment. Before he became aware of the obscurus inside him, he’d never imagined it happening so literally. He could not think of a more perfect embodiment of the state of himself. All his life he’d felt alien to those around him, unable to connect, unable to speak and move in the same rhythms and rhymes that they did, and he had been right all along. 

Gellert’s forefinger brushed over his lips, sealing those thoughts inside. “You may never stop feeling these things, but you don’t have to be alone anymore.” 

The way he looked at Credence was like there was no one else in the world in that moment, and Credence was suddenly glad that Gellert never seemed soft. Gellert was a man strong enough to lean on. Strong enough, and somehow, miraculously, even willing to carry him. Gellert had apparently looked into his mind, seen every shameful, terrible thing Credence had ever imagined doing to another person, and decided he was still worth caring for. No one had ever done that for Credence before. 

Credence let his head fall to the man’s shoulder and tucked himself there tight, glad that he fit just right. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” he whispered, knowing now that Gellert would understand his meaning. It was a strange relief he never thought he would feel, another person being able to hear him think. 

Gellert snorted softly. “Percy’s got you all riled up, I see.” But he would know Credence didn’t just mean this current doubt. He did not comment on the rest, however. “You can expect a lot more of that from him in the future.” 

Credence nodded, knowing Gellert would feel it as much as hear the acknowledgement in his mind. Briefly, he wondered how that worked, whether it was only fully formed thoughts that were readable or whether intentions, emotions, images and the like were just as clear, but there had been another thing he’d meant to ask Gellert. Another thing Mr. Graves had said that had him worried. 

If Gellert was listening in just then, he did not spare Credence the embarrassment of having to ask aloud. “Do you…like him? Like you like me?” It came out softer than a whisper, so soft he could barely hear it himself, but the room was quiet and they were alone. Even Gwendoline’s movements in the kitchen had somehow been muted. Perhaps the little elf realised they needed some privacy. 

Credence didn’t want to look this time when Gellert answered, so he kept his head tucked in the man’s neck where it was and wished hard not to be moved. A gentle touch laid over his back. 

“I don’t like anyone the way I like you, Credence.” Gellert turned to kiss the top of his head. “What Percival and I had was something else entirely. He never trusted me. May never trust me, in fact. Not the way you’ve begun to.” Nimble fingers drew over the shell of Credence’s earlobe. “I think he could be a great asset to have. Especially one with the potential of being very close to you.” 

Credence looked up at that, a question in his eyes. All this time when Gellert had taunted the man about Credence, Credence had to assume it really was just taunting. Gellert had made it clear he was secure in Credence getting close to Graves, but regardless of that…. 

Gellert smiled down at him. “I haven’t brought him here to compete with you. I’ve brought him here to join us.” 

Credence blinked. If Gellert meant ‘join’ in the way it sounded like he meant it, Credence wasn’t sure what to think of that. He’d tried so hard to differentiate the two men in his mind ever since the real Graves showed up in their guest room. Or perhaps even earlier than that. Perhaps it was when Gellert took on his own face, and Credence had had to accept that he’d never known the other man. But Gellert didn’t strike him as the type to share. 

Gellert’s smile turned amused and he leaned down to nuzzle at Credence’s mouth before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’m not.” He really was reading Credence’s mind. “But in several ways, I’ve come to see Percy as an extension of myself. Or at least he has the potential to be, if he would only admit it. You learn a lot about a person after wearing their skin. I’d rather not kill him if I don’t have to.” Gellert pressed another kiss to Credence’s lips, and then another, teasing him and preventing Credence from making any protest before he pulled away. 

When Credence blinked his eyes open again, however, he was met with a different face before him. Brown eyes, dark hair, a narrower mouth, and a more welcoming appearance met Credence, but Graves’s face still held Gellert’s mischievous smile. Credence had _not_ been expecting that, and he flushed deeply, unsure of how to react. 

So Gellert reacted for him. The man leaned in again and pressed another kiss to Credence’s lips. “I know you still find me attractive like this. And I know you’re more worried about what I think than you really mind which face I wear.” 

Credence had almost forgotten this. The kiss was perfectly chaste, but Gellert’s mouth felt different now. Credence shivered and couldn’t help squirming with discomfort. “But it’s still _you_.” He put as much emphasis as he could muster behind it because he meant it. If he’d never spoken to the real Graves, then he’d never wanted the man, and not at all like he wanted Gellert. Credence clutched tight to the man’s arms, instinctively holding himself in place. 

“Loyal to a fault.” Gellert laughed softly and his face melted back into his own. He did not look displeased, merely amused. 

Credence couldn’t understand why he wasn’t bothered by all this. And Credence didn’t consider his loyalty to be a bad thing. At least he hoped it wasn’t, not after everything he’d been through, deciding to take that risk. He’d tried all his life to be loyal in one way or another. Loyal to God. Loyal to his mother. He had always failed. He had always ended up resenting those who’d asked him for his loyalty. He didn’t want to fail Gellert, too, not when Gellert was the one person who gave him affection in return. 

Gellert’s strong arms lifted him again, and Credence found himself being turned so they were face to face. “Shhh, boy,” Gellert said softly, and miraculously, Credence felt his thoughts calming. “There’s no need to worry so. You are mine. He is mine. You are not doing anything wrong, and I have absolutely no intention of giving you up.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would like you to be comfortable together.” 

It was strange how Gellert could calm him. Credence would have suspected it had something to do with the mind reading, if Mr. Graves had mentioned such a thing and if Gellert hadn’t already denied he was capable of control like that, but all Gellert had to do was hold him and tell him he was wanted, and Credence felt like he would do anything for the man. As the rise and fall of Credence’s chest began to slow, he nodded. He still wasn’t sure how any of what Gellert was implying could come to pass, not with Graves being his prisoner, and Credence still didn’t know how he would react if the man wanted to touch him like Gellert did, but at least the idea settled into his mind as something less frightening than it had before. 

Credence sank down against Gellert’s chest again, wanting to feel his arms around him, wanting to be held tight. He felt like his body needed the reassurance just as much as his mind did, and Gellert allowed it. Gellert folded Credence between his arms and held him tight, just like he’d wanted.

They sat there like that until Gwendoline finished in the kitchen, then, on quiet feet, came to let them know dinner was ready. 

Gellert had no cold words for her that time, just a nod, and then he rose to his feet, Credence with him, and appeared to enjoy holding Credence like that for a moment. Credence was hoisted high on his waist, looking down at Gellert in a rare turn of events while the man gazed up at him until Credence was lowered for a last, lingering kiss, and then set back on his feet. 

Credence took his place at the table while the plates floated in and Gellert went to fetch Mr. Graves. He hoped the man would not suspect what they’d been talking about, or what they’d been doing, even chaste as it was, but Credence knew the moment he saw Gellert leading Graves around the corner of the hall that his hope had been foolish. 

Graves’s face was stony and his eyes glanced to Credence only once, but in that moment, Credence knew he could see all his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Graves looked away before he sat down, his chains clinking against the edge of the table.

“Much better. Tuck in,” Gellert told them as he took his own chair and settled in comfortably. He was the only one who seemed to feel so, out of the three of them, and remained so for the rest of the meal. 

Once or twice, Credence dared to glance up at Mr. Graves across the table, and dared to remember the conversation he’d just had with Gellert, but he didn’t manage it for long. The man looked so dour, it was very difficult to see him any other way. After the second time, Credence began to feel like he risked imposing his own thoughts upon a man who was going through an entirely different set of problems. He couldn’t imagine this man wanting him in any capacity, not like Gellert suggested, even though he was kind to Credence. Graves simply seemed too unhappy. 

By the time they were finished, Mr. Graves had not looked at him again. Not once. It was hard not to think he’d done something wrong, or fear that Mr. Graves really had been able to read minds like Gellert all along, and was now disgusted with the direction of Credence’s thoughts, but he had not looked at Gellert either. For once, Gellert hadn’t forced him to, and hadn’t forced conversation either. 

When all their plates were clean, Gellert glanced to Mr. Graves with a considering once over and then nodded. “Go get cleaned up.” 

It was a clear dismissal. Credence doubted the man would be invited back once he’d finished bathing and shaving for the night, but he didn’t know what that meant, either. It was strange to compare all this to the way it sounded like Gellert imagined they could be one day. But then again, Credence wasn’t sure how he could handle both of them in the same room for some time yet to come, either. 

Graves didn’t show any sign of reaction except pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. He left his plate and napkin, and didn’t bother to straighten his chair before he left. 

Once he was gone, Credence glanced to Gellert. 

“Give it time,” was all the man said, leaning back and finishing his wine. He leaned forward and set the glass down, fixing Credence in his sights. “There’s no rush.” 

Credence felt a trickle of warmth down his belly at that. Gellert could pitch his voice just so to elicit that sensation in him, and the man always did it deliberately. Knowing they were alone again, Credence let himself meet Gellert’s eyes, even if his head was still bowed. He offered him a tentative smile in return, and warmed inside to see Gellert’s own smile widen at the sight of it. He might not have been able to read minds, but he was glad he could get that kind of a reaction from this man. 

Gellert scooted his chair back and looked as content as ever. “Would you like to sit on the couch for a while before bed?”

Credence knew what that meant—lazy, indulgent touches as Credence sat with Gellert in a comfortable embrace while they flipped through the books Credence had been working on that day and Gellert asked what he thought of them. The man would answer his questions at length, sometimes veering into tangential topics, and Credence would listen and try to absorb it all. Sometimes he felt incredibly inadequate compared to Gellert’s knowledge and understanding of the world, but that didn’t stop him from being indescribably curious, either. Tonight, Credence was just looking forward to the comfort of Gellert’s arms around him again, and the new and strange sense of normalcy he’d begun to feel at having a routine like that.

“Yes, please,” Credence answered and Gellert smiled at his ever polite tone. Credence didn’t need it, but Gellert offered a hand to help him out of his chair, and he took it, inexplicably grateful for the touch. Gellert’s hands never left him as they moved into the living room, leaving the table for Gwendoline to clear. 

Gellert sat down on the couch and laid himself out so Credence could climb up in his lap. The soft lamplight cast his features in shadows deeper than the dining room did, but it was something of a comfort. Credence often felt safer in the dark, when he was alone and couldn’t be seen. The thought of having someone to step into the darkness with him made his chest tight and his heart beat faster in a very pleasant way. He climbed up and settled in against Gellert without hesitation, happy and comfortable now that his fears had been quieted, although it was hard to shake the rawness of those fears having existed at all. 

“Your books must be in the other room, hm?” Gellert asked, and Credence realised with sudden trepidation that it was true. Usually he left them on the table or the chair he liked to sit in, but he’d been studying with Mr. Graves all day and hadn’t thought to bring them. 

“Mr. Graves wanted company today,” Credence explained, quiet and uncertain. Even after everything Gellert had just told him, he wasn’t sure that it was his place to befriend the man. Not on his own. Not without Gellert’s direct permission. 

He felt a kiss press into the top of his head and a chuckle shaking his slight frame from beneath. “Good to hear it,” was all Gellert had to say, to Credence’s relief. “He’ll have a lot to say about your studies, I’m sure, but I am firmly of the belief that a well-rounded mind is a good mind.” 

Credence breathed a little easier at that. “It doesn’t sound like he likes some of your ideas very much,” he mumbled into the soft wool at Gellert’s chest. He could have gone on about the way Graves scoured through his books and warned Credence of the ideological pitfalls of each one, those that weren’t the basic spell books, and since Credence hadn’t finished most of them, and was altogether uninformed of the politics behind the wizarding world as a whole, or, admittedly, even the no-maj world, all he’d been able to do was nod along. 

“I am not at all surprised.” Gellert gave a hearty chuckle, and seemed not to care whether they were overheard from the bathroom around the corner. “That tends to happen when you start a revolution. People will disagree with you. Percival has been used to the world being a certain way, and even if he may see the merit in some of the ideas I propose, change is always scary.” 

Credence looked up. Gellert sounded like this was a well-worn conversation, and Credence suddenly realised it might have been a regular occurrence between the two of them when they were in New York. But Graves didn’t sound like he was worried about Gellert’s ideas simply because they would be a change. Graves had started to talk about the way old wizarding society liked to think of no-majs, and anyone who was willing to associate with no-majs, as being beneath them. He told Credence that people had a lot of fancy ways of dressing up those feelings to sound like honest political aspirations, and how some of them even proposed mass slaughter to achieve their goals, and Credence had to admit, he did not like the idea of a certain kind of people being looked down upon and cast out of society. The thought of it hit too close to home. 

But so far, Gellert hadn’t talked about that much. He’d talked about the obstacles wizards faced trying to survive while keeping their society hidden. He’d talked about the ways they’d been hunted by no-majs, or muggles, and how many no-majs had been tortured and killed on suspicion of being witches. Another subject that hit very, very close to home for Credence. He knew what living in that kind of fear was like better than most. It seemed like Gellert wanted to save people like him. 

It made him feel torn. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to be a wizard, wanted to be taken away from the life he’d had and told that he was safe and that he was not the terrible, worthless person he so often believed himself to be. And if he thought about it, he didn’t want anyone else to ever have to go through such a thing either. He was grateful for whatever it was that spurred Gellert to seek him out and save him from that life, and the notion of doing that for others, too. But Mr. Graves had made it sound like Gellert would gain power only to turn around and do the same to those without magic in turn, and Credence didn’t know how to feel about that. There were things Gellert had already done that worried him, although not for the sake of the world at large, only for his own. 

Both Gellert and Mr. Graves seemed very concerned about the world at large, but all Credence felt he had the capacity to worry about was himself. He was wondering how he could possibly convey all this to Gellert by the time he remembered he could very well be listening in on Credence’s thoughts that very moment, and, mortified, Credence curled in tighter against his chest as though he could possibly hide himself.

A soft huff sounded above him, but it was amused. “You realise I’ve listened to many of your thoughts worse than this, don’t you?” Gellert chided him. 

Credence had to admit it was true, but the thought that he was less than considerate even within the space of his own mind when they were now on better terms made Credence’s chest well with guilt. 

Gellert gave a long sigh beneath him and forcibly lifted Credence’s head to look at him. “Do not think me naive, Credence. You do not always have to keep your less than pleasant thoughts to yourself for fear that I’ll be aware of them.” 

Credence swallowed and nodded, still not sure what to say aloud. He hadn’t meant to think that Gellert was anything close to naive. It was only that he still feared upsetting him. Credence cast about for a way to respond without sounding hollow. Almost any comment he had on the matter would sound hollow, even to his own ears, knowing that he had very little stake in the matter. But he did have questions, he supposed. “Do you think he’ll come around then?” 

It was a fair enough question since Gellert had brought Graves to them and apparently planned for the man to stay, but Gellert considered his answer for longer than Credence had expected. “In some ways, yes. Even Percy can admit that there is a lot of merit against such laws as the ones MACUSA holds dear. He isn’t a complete fool. But I fear he’ll never agree with my methods, and he will always fear the kind of society that could take the place of the one that exists now. I have no particular affinity for pureblood supremacy, only that magic has the right to be free and nurtured to its greatest potential, for the good of all.” Gellert’s grip softened and he stroked Credence’s cheek. “Can you imagine a world where magic is used freely? Where it becomes the norm? The things we could do. The problems we could solve. It’s never been done before. It would be remiss of me not to anticipate the human element in all this, that even with wizards out in the open advancing this earth to levels we cannot yet imagine, that we would still fight each other, that there would still be war. But there would be less. A _lot_ less. If we’re only willing to make sacrifices to get there.” 

Credence thought it sounded like Mr. Graves had less faith in the wizarding people than Gellert did. That was a strange thought, because he, through experience, had a lot less faith in the non-wizarding sort. He found himself nodding, knowing Gellert was listening to him now, and so he decided not to say anything aloud. He just hoped that Gellert was right in the end. Credence thought that if he had a choice, he would prefer a chance at a better world. It was a chance he’d taken for himself, after all.

* * *

When Percival finally came out of the bathroom towel drying his hair and gravely unhappy with how visible the finger shaped blotches on his neck were, he didn’t have to look far to find Grindelwald and the boy. Soft murmurings came from the living room, and he thought long and hard about whether he wanted to round the corner or just head back to his room. He decided it was worth it, just to face the other man, just to let him know that Percival would not wilfully avoid him simply because he was having an intimate moment with the boy. 

The moment he rounded the hall, however, what met his eyes took Percival off guard. The two were spread out on the couch, Grindelwald’s hands linked behind Credence’s back while the boy straddled his lap, leaning forward until they were nose to nose. But they weren’t kissing. At least, not at the moment. What struck Percival was that the boy was smiling, restraining soft, breathy laughter that could even, perhaps, be described as giggles, and Grindelwald was smiling back at him, mouth curved mischievously at whatever he was whispering, and eyes focused on nothing but Credence. 

Percival had never seen him look so…domestic. Even when he was well aware of what happened the other day, and what Grindelwald was very likely up to every time he went out, he and Credence looked perfectly happy to be wrapped up in one another and nothing more. Percival knew he should have been disgusted at the sight, at how well Grindelwald could twist what he was doing into a seemingly innocent moment, but he just couldn’t muster the feeling. 

The lights in the hall were low enough that he wasn’t sure the pair had noticed him yet. Definitely the boy hadn’t, but it was always hard to tell with Grindelwald. Sometimes he pretended Percival wasn’t there at all, but Percival didn’t think there was any real meaning in it, except perhaps that he felt comfortable enough to. Or perhaps it was just to unsettle him. 

As it was, he didn’t want to step into the room and break the moment. Which, in and of itself, disturbed him. It was easy enough to tell himself it was for the boy’s sake, that Credence deserved whatever small joys he could find. And Grindelwald…. Percival shouldn’t have cared whether he was happy or not. He was seducing this boy into a deadly game that Credence couldn’t possibly understand in its entirety—that was clear enough from the boy’s trust in him. 

Percival had had no problem mustering a deep disturbance the last time he’d met them in the living room, although Credence had been dozing off at the time. Maybe it was easier to imagine him unhappy then, without the quietly restrained but oh so clear affection in his bearing now.

He had to break the moment. 

With a sigh, Percival stepped into the room, carefully arranging his face blank of any emotion. Not that it would do anything to prevent Grindelwald from reading him, but the annoyance at that fact alone was enough to cover for his lack of feeling a moment ago, he figured. It was best just not to care what Grindelwald thought. 

Credence’s head turned when he heard Percival’s footsteps, and the boy, thankfully, had the presence of mind to blush at being found in the position he was in and the man he was with. Percival, however, did not want to stay long. He inclined his head to the both of them, rigid and polite as he could make it, wondering all the while why he didn’t have the heart to rage at Grindelwald in front of Credence. He was not normally this accommodating. 

“Goodnight,” he offered stiffly, deciding that that was enough. 

Grindelwald merely inclined his head in return, for once seemingly content to let Percival go. The lamplight made his mismatched eyes gleam all the more noticeably, and they held fast to Percival while he stood there. He had a strong sense of being read, but he could not read Grindelwald’s expression in return. 

Credence was all too easy to read. The boy’s small hands clutched at the lapels of Grindelwald’s waistcoat, but he’d turned as far as he could to see Percival. He looked like he thought he should say goodnight, but couldn’t decide whether it was appropriate or not, or his place. His body was stiff until Grindelwald ran a hand down his back, and even at the distance Percival stood, he saw Credence’s spine relax. 

He had to get out of there. And so he did. He turned on his heel and made a hasty retreat back to his room. This time, he even shut the door behind himself. He didn’t care if he was locked in until one of them opened it again. He really, really didn’t want to see the rest of the apartment anymore. He would rather try to forget they were there at all, even if it meant going back to passing the time with nothing but the four walls of his room. 

At least he was clean again. It was a small consolation as he undressed for bed. And the bed was comfortable, too. This would have been a very nice apartment if he hadn’t been locked up in it. He laid down, not wanting to sleep, but knowing he had nothing else to do but think about the man and the boy in the other room. His thoughts would linger on them the whole night if he allowed it. 

He knew he should have stayed. He should have demanded Grindelwald engage him in conversation at every chance he could get. Force him to drop something of importance. That had been one of Percival’s most shameful mistakes the last time, allowing himself to question Grindelwald less and less as the time passed and his complacency grew. 

He gave a long sigh and stared up at the ceiling. It was late enough, but he wasn’t tired. His mind was, perhaps, but not his body. All he’d done all day was sit with Credence, trying to restrain himself from flat out begging the boy to see things clearly. But Credence had shied away when Percival became too pointed in talking about the messages behind the books he’d been given. It was frustrating. Too much force and Credence retreated into himself quicker than anyone Percival had ever met. And he was not used to accommodating the sensitivities of others. Especially not in his present circumstances. 

And then there was Grindelwald. Grindelwald who’d touched him the night prior, but ignored him all day, preferring instead to spend his time home with Credence. This was not a surprise, not at all, but it was still jarring from what Percival was used to. 

‘Used to.’ He huffed at his own thoughts. It was surprising just what a man could get used to. 

He rolled over and tried to put it out of his mind. He had a strong suspicion that this would become his nightly routine, rehashing every minuscule detail that had happened throughout the day like it could be depended on for some miraculous escape. Or, more realistically, simply because he had nothing better to think about. 

It was a long time before sleep found him, but Percival welcomed it when it did.

* * *

Percival felt a hand at his back. Strong. Gentle. It was something familiar, and he relished that. Slowly, luxuriously, he stretched, enjoying the feel of the mattress beneath him and the plushness of the pillow under his head as he became aware by degrees, but mostly he enjoyed the way he knew his curved back would be an inviting image for the owner of that hand. He didn’t have to think about anything other than that right now, not when he was half awake and indulgently horny. 

A warm body settled down behind him. More than warm. Percival could feel the heat of it through the light clothes between them. He was only wearing a shirt, but he could tell that Grindelwald wasn’t wearing much more than that either. He didn’t mind. They were of a height, so when he felt a hot mouth press over the back of his neck, followed by the soft bite of teeth, he shifted his ass back and met the other man’s hips as he’d expected. A deep inhale was his reward. His first reward. The second was a hand gripping his hip and Grindelwald’s hips thrusting back in return. Percival felt Grindelwald growing hard between them, cock rapidly filling and fitting in between the cleft of his cheeks. 

“Take off your damn pants,” Percival mumbled into the pillow, grinding back with as much force as he could muster while still feeling so comfortably lethargic. He expected Grindelwald to laugh at him, and was not disappointed when he did. He had just enough presence of mind to laugh at himself, low and guttural, straight into the pillow, but then Grindelwald was leaning over him, pressing his front to Percival’s back and biting kisses into his neck. 

Percival grunted with the weight pressing down on him, but it was a pleasant sensation. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he’d have to get up and face the world, or at least his home, when this was over, and within that space in the back of his mind he knew this man was the reason it was so easy to sleep so long on the days he was away. But Percival was awake now, and he wasn’t going to deny himself. 

Calloused fingers brushed over his hip, sliding back behind him, and then he felt Grindelwald doing as he’d asked. The layer of material between them disappeared, hiked down Grindelwald’s hips and then cast aside somewhere on the floor. When their lower bodies met skin to skin, Percival groaned. He felt rough hair brush against his cheek followed by lips pressed into a grin as Grindelwald rutted against him.

He realised he had yet to properly open his eyes and look at the other man, but he didn’t care. It might even annoy Grindelwald if he kept it up for too long, and wouldn’t that be something. Percival liked nothing better when he could manage it. But then he felt teeth at his earlobe, a little too sharp, and he had to wince and pull away, glaring behind him only to be met with a smirking mouth and narrowed, glittering eyes. Not very long ago, that smirk drove him mad with rage. It still could, he supposed, but now it mostly just drove him mad. 

Percival reached behind him and pulled the other man closer. As much as Grindelwald liked to manhandle him, Percival refused to be docile in their encounters. Coincidentally, he could tell Grindelwald appreciated it. Percival made a good pursuit, he supposed. He’d never known himself to enjoy _being_ pursued in such a manner, and yet here he was, pressing back against Grindelwald’s hips and imagining that cock inside him, knowing it would be in another minute or two, and feeling his body readying itself for what was to come. 

Grindelwald might draw it out if Percival let him, but it was easy to provoke the man. All he had to do was turn his head and bite back. 

He could tell it had been a surprised the first time he’d done it. Somehow, he’d managed to catch Grindelwald off guard after the man had been digging his teeth into Percival’s neck after coming home one night. Percival had caught the edge of his jaw between his own teeth in retaliation and was met with a split second of wide, mismatched eyes, certain that one of them had been wandering out of line with the other until they were fixed on him, and then Grindelwald was laughing and hauling him up onto the man’s hips, caught between him and the wall. After that, Grindelwald hadn’t spared much time before he was inside him, teeth back at Percival’s neck and hand fisted in his hair. Grindelwald liked tousling it until it fell into his eyes. At the time, he’d said it made Percival look even more irritable than usual. 

As it was, Percival knew his hair was likely a mess, but he didn’t care, not when his teeth found skin and he got a sharp thrust and a growl for his effort. Then Percival was being pushed away, but only enough to roll him over fully and pin him down to the bed. He huffed and dug the pillow out from under him so that he wouldn’t suffocate. A small part of him might still have been unsure whether Grindelwald would notice, or care, if he was smothered in the heat of the moment. It was lucky he had the forethought because a hand was fisted in his hair again and his face was shoved down into the sheets. 

Grindelwald pressed flat against him for a few thrusts, probably enjoying the thought of what it would feel like to be inside of Percival just as Percival had been enjoying that thought a minute ago, before he was rising up. Percival felt himself become slick very suddenly, some of it dripping down between his legs onto the bed below. He knew he was never going to get used to that without hearing the spell said aloud. Then again, he was probably never going to get used to that at all. Before Grindelwald, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of a dick since his youth. 

He stilled his movements when he felt Grindelwald settle atop the back of his thighs and then the unmistakable blunt head of a cock brush between his cheeks. Up and down, Grindelwald dragged it slowly, catching the head against that ring of muscle every time, and making Percival anticipate the moment it would breach. After several passes, he didn’t know whether he was growing impatient or anxious. His stomach began knotting up at every pass, until he grunted in frustration and tried to push back. A hand slammed between his shoulder blades and pinned him in place while Grindelwald chuckled above him and settled himself just a little higher, readying himself for more leverage. Percival turned his head to the side and had just opened his mouth to curse at the man when, _finally_ , he felt the thick head of that cock catch and _push_. 

Percival groaned instead. Even with the spell, it hurt. It always hurt at the start. He knew Grindelwald could have taken the pain away if he’d asked, but Percival would never ask. He felt like he should feel it. If he was doing this in the first place, it was only right that he hurt a little. 

Grindelwald had all the leverage and there wasn’t much Percival could have done anyway, not even when the man leaned over him and sank himself all the way down inside in one long thrust. It may have hurt, but Percival still whimpered when his cock slid just right, fitting that Grindelwald was an unpredictable mix of pain and pleasure. 

Percival was breathing out and in, deep and slow as he could to get through the sensation, when Grindelwald’s arms wrapped around his neck and the man hummed, undoubtedly satisfied, against the back of Percival’s neck. Instinctively he gripped Grindelwald’s wrists, even though his rational mind knew the man wasn’t trying to choke him. He simply liked having that edge over Percival. 

That was more than clear when the first thrust came before Percival was ready and Grindelwald held him tight enough that he could barely move, only take it while he worked his cock into Percival. Percival grunted and did his best to push back, but he was in an awkward position and didn’t manage much more than writhing against the man behind him. It was, however, enough to make Grindelwald groan and kiss his neck. 

“Would you like me to let you up?” Grindelwald whispered, light and teasing and designed to make Percival’s stomach coil with embarrassment and frustration. The idea that another man could pin him down like this rankled. 

“ _Yes_ , I would like you to let me up,” Percival ground out, trying for a mockery of Grindelwald’s tone, but failing miserably. When the man just chuckled and grinned and kept moving, Percival knew he sounded nothing but petulant. And how Grindelwald must get off on that. Percival Graves, Director of Security and head of MACUSA’s Magical Law Enforcement, reduced to petulance on Grindelwald’s cock. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on Percival’s part, although that probably only made it more enjoyable for the dark wizard. 

“I don’t know. I like the look of you like this, Percy. Face down with my cock in your arse. I’m going to keep this memory for a very long time to come.” There was those teeth again, but they were gentle this time, and something about it contrasted so nicely with the way Grindelwald’s cock was drawing pleasure out of him more than pain now. It made the rising heat in his gut spread up through his body until it reached Grindelwald’s mouth. He must have been breathing funny because Grindelwald seemed amused when he spoke again. “I think you will, too.” 

With that, Percival was flipped onto his back and before he could react, the other man fell atop him, licking into Percival’s mouth with the barest hint of teeth. Grindelwald wouldn’t stop grinning. 

Percival did his best to wipe that grin off his face, but it was a losing battle. He knew it, and he didn’t care. As long as he got a decent blow in here and there, and shoved Grindelwald over until, finally, _blessedly_ , he was the one on top even if he was riding the man’s cock, Percival was happy with it. 

As long as he survived this, he considered it a win. 

Grindelwald took hold of his hips and grinned up at him, and still somehow managed to meet Percival’s pace thrusting up while he was thrusting down. Grindelwald didn’t look like he enjoyed this position any less, which took the victory out of it somewhat, but his cock was still driving into Percival just right and he found he couldn’t make himself care for very long. 

He caught Grindelwald’s eyes as he laid underneath Percival, and there was nothing submissive about him. His hands were pulling Percival down just as much as Percival’s own weight was, and Grindelwald’s hips came up to meet him every time. Percival could see the strain in his shoulders from the effort and the way he clenched his teeth while he grinned. There was sweat on his forehead and his hair was a wild array above his head, but he didn’t look like he cared about anything other than driving up into Percival.

It was what had been so alluring about him in the first place. That single-minded focus, his way with words and caresses and drawing desires out of Percival he would have never admitted to. Or certainly not with Gellert Grindelwald. 

Percival’s mouth dropped open. The more he took in exactly who was beneath him, inside him, forcing grunts of pleasure out of his mouth, the more that pleasure began to crest. He was a long way from his sleepy, half aware self now, and he still wanted this. He let himself want so few things in life beyond a career and an accomplished image to present to the world, and now he had this, his pleasures with this man, and Percival didn’t want to stop. 

His thoughts were hazing over, narrowing down to the look in Grindelwald’s eyes, gleeful and triumphant over Percival coming undone as much as he was experiencing the same pleasure himself. Percival half wondered if the way he could see nothing else and feel nothing else, with how completely the world around him disappeared, had anything to do with Grindelwald toying with his mind. They were staring straight into each other after all, but the moment the half coherent thought crossed his mind, Grindelwald’s grin grew by fractions. 

Percival realised then that regardless of his proficiency at legilimency, Grindelwald did not need it to control a man’s thoughts. 

Percival came knowing that Grindelwald had him, exactly how he wanted him, so thoroughly he could make Percival want it, too. It was a long moment of thoughtless bliss, of letting Grindelwald carry the pace and move Percival as he liked, of muscles tensing and spasming until he’d spilt all he could onto the other man’s chest. He’d made some kind of soundless cry, with the way his jaw was hanging open and he felt like his breathing had stopped. 

Grindelwald lunged up, grabbed Percival around the shoulders, and flipped them so that once again he was on his back, and entirely overstimulated in this position because Grindelwald didn’t pull out or slow down. He sped up. He drove into Percival like a switch had flipped in him, teeth still clenched and breath coming fast. Percival thought he might never see anything but triumph on his face again after this. It seemed to be fixed there as Gellert held Percival’s head between his hands. He looked like he might dive down to kiss Percival at any moment, but instead he just held him there, pinned between his hands and his cock, oversensitised nerves screaming at him with every thrust and entirely unable to move under Grindelwald’s weight. 

It was only when he couldn’t take it anymore, when his eyes were watering and his body was stretched too taut, and he tried to push back that Grindelwald let him. His thighs came down around Grindelwald’s waist and his back straightened and a margin of relief flooded through him as Grindelwald finally came. 

He did so with a shudder, like it had caught him by surprise. Percival had never seen a more unadulterated look of bliss on a man’s face before, mouth parted around a low sound and eyes falling half shut. His hips stuttered and froze, cock buried deep inside Percival. 

With a sigh, his eyes fluttered open again and he let his weight fall on one arm next to Percival’s head. He was breathing just as hard as Percival was, if not more. Belatedly, Percival realised he was watching the man’s head clear as he came down from the high. His own must have been clearing as well, because he was starting to notice things again, other than Grindelwald. 

It was another long moment before the man pulled out of him, however. But he didn’t go far after that. He rolled onto his side next to Percival and closed his eyes, the picture of utter contentment. He seemed happy to lay there after that, not dozing, just…caught up in the afterglow. 

Much against his wishes, Percival’s dutiful mind was fighting his own. It was pushing his thoughts to the fact that it was now sometime past evening, and Grindelwald had just returned home after a day of wearing his face. As much as he wanted to push all that aside and enjoy nothing but the moment, it was a futile effort. There was nothing he could do about it though, and he knew it. So he let the thoughts be and settled down next to Grindelwald, pulling the blankets up as his skin began to cool, and let the other man scoot closer. 

Grindelwald with his eyes closed was deceptively…pretty. Not in the way of feminine beauty. Not even in the way most youths were as they entered adulthood, but his features were very pleasing. He would have been called handsome by anyone who met him, but it was not the rugged sort of handsome Percival tended to think came attached with the word, not the way people had described himself as handsome. The fact that he was thinking over this at all drew up a protest from some small part of his mind, but he brushed it aside. He’d just let the man fuck him. Dark wizard, criminal or not, Percival clearly couldn’t deny he was attractive. 

As Percival studied him, a slow, satisfied smile spread across the man’s face. He was reading Percival’s thoughts, even with his eyes closed. The realisation came with not a small shock of trepidation, but then Grindelwald laughed and pulled him closer, kissing the deep furrow between Percival’s brows. It should have been a condescending gesture, but somehow, Percival calmed. 

“I don’t mind if you think I’m pretty,” Grindelwald whispered like it was a secret. Perhaps it was. Percival wouldn’t have dared tell another soul. But MACUSA seemed very far away just then, even though he knew Grindelwald visited them every day. It was getting easier to compartmentalise his pleasure and his loyalties. 

Percival couldn’t remember what happened after that. Either they fell asleep, or he’d gotten up to take a shower and have dinner. His mind cast about for the thread of memory, but as soon as it began to unravel, it was lost to him completely. 

He awoke to the room in Berlin blanketed in the shallow darkness of early morning. He was alone and an ocean away from where he’d been in his mind. A warm and insidious kind of dread grew in his stomach. He’d dreamed of Grindelwald again. Even when he was back under the man’s control, in completely different circumstances, he still couldn’t stop the dreams. This time there had been no imaginary figure of Credence to draw his conscience back in order. This time there had been nothing between him and his captor at all. 

Percival pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to believe he was as damned as he felt.


	15. Chapter 15

Snow and ice crunched beneath Gellert’s boots as he walked the length of the field, watching two battalions of men converge on each other through brush at the edge of the forest. Dusk made for an eerie battleground. There were times he swore he could feel the changing of the earth’s very magic in the air at this hour, and often wondered if anyone else ever felt it, too. Reaching out to the minds of the men in their makeshift militias, he found that they did not. They were, however, very focused on the task at hand. 

The training camp he’d set up just outside of the city had been a success. So much so that he’d moved quickly on to the chapters in Munich, Nuremberg, and Hamburg. Berlin had the experience of working directly with him before, as did much smaller units of his followers in other countries, so they’d had a head start in training to work as a larger scale militia.

He stopped to breathe the frigid air and assess the minds of his men as they moved. Their formation, on both sides, was not as tight as it could be, but they had managed it well enough before they had engaged each other in direct combat. Disabling spells only, nothing lethal in training. On the whole, their thoughts were uplifting, enjoying the heat of simulated battle before they knew what battle really was. 

These people had never been soldiers. Many of them had never fought at all. Gellert had kept his most experienced units, made of former aurors, enforcers, various security types for hire, to himself. For now. He needed them for his own missions. Most of them he put to use overseeing the training. Somewhere in this camp, on the other side of the field, hidden behind a barrier of charms no one but Gellert himself could penetrate, Thaddeus was among them. 

With effort, Gellert could slip into his mind as he watched the battle play out. Thaddeus and the other trainers were equipped with magical maps, but Gellert did not need such things. Not when he could map the movements of every soldier through the field by the feel of them alone. Legilimency that broad was not an easy task, even for him, but it proved useful more often than he could count. He took care to train that skill well. 

As he walked, the sound of the battle rose. The two sides were well and truly upon each other now, firing jinxes that blasted the bark off trees and burst bales of hay that had been laid down as an obstacle course between them. Every once in a while the shout of a fallen man rose up into the night sky. 

Their spells may have been nonlethal, but that didn’t mean they were painless. Gellert had made certain of that. 

He caught glimpses of men running between the trees. Billows of smoke covered the field, creeping between obstacles thrown over the ground and smothering everything in its path, only to be blown away again and then replaced just as quickly while the combatants disguised their movements and the opposing side countered the effort. Their spells, encased in the smoke, lit up like lightning inside a storm, and for a moment Gellert was reminded of Credence. 

The black, churning mass the boy could become only vaguely resembled the fog, but it moved just as peculiarly. Credence’s mass had been growing. Little by little, certainly, but it was noticeable. His outward appearance had no such correlation, it seemed, but Gellert truly didn’t mind that part. Not at all. 

Credence on the other side of the bridge was still worlds apart in ability from Credence on their own side, but even he had noticed the obscurus was gaining strength with practise, if not the magic he performed with his wand. It made Gellert’s chest tight with hope to think about, and his step more eager across the field. 

He passed a tent of militiamen waiting for their turn in practise. Faces young and old and in between turned his way, and then quickly averted, looking down or to the side. Some stood straighter. Others tried to look busy. He could feel their recognition and apprehension as he strode past. 

The prickle of it in his mind wasn’t bothersome. He wanted to be seen here. He so rarely was, anywhere, but it was time. He knew his presence boosted morale even if he was a wanted man. If these people were dedicated enough to be here, then he would let them see him. The intensity of his presence alone created a reality to the cause, and brought out a sense of loyalty in people they often weren’t aware they had. 

The people who stood inside the tent, just like the people battling in the field, came from all around. Some travelled quite far to be here. The militia demanded discretion in their methods and practises only. Apart from that, the wizards who came here to join in the cause were fairly vocal about doing so. 

Gellert wanted the word to spread, so long as no one knew which locale he would grace his presence with next. These militias were meant to be seen as largely created and run by the people who joined. And they were, somewhat. He had avoided having an inner circle for as long as possible. But again, times were changing. 

He made his way to Thaddeus’ hidden position. With a disillusionment charm, he dropped out of view to any onlookers who were able to follow him through the rapidly descending dark and the wandering smoke. He did not wish to interrupt the battle and give Thaddeus’ presence away. For all the combatants knew, he could be watching from anywhere. 

When Gellert slipped through the shield Thaddeus had erected for himself, the man nearly startled. Hunched over a table of maps with glowing marks rushing across the surface and sparks flaring over the paper, as well as a good view of the fight and a pair of omnioculars, he drew his hand away from the wand he’d been reaching for and tried to school his expression back to something normal. 

Gellert gave the man a mocking smile. “Afraid of one of your trainees catching you out?” It wasn’t as cold behind the charm. He loosened his coat and pulled up one of the small chairs to sit beside Thaddeus and look out over the field. The magical “bunker” muted the harsher blasts coming from the battle. 

Thaddeus scowled, whipped back his dark hair, and turned back to his maps. “You know why I set up this charm. And you have a very quiet step.” It was true, Thaddeus’ shield was strong and stable, since he’d had time to set it up before the battle had begun earlier in the day and he was no novice. 

Gellert sat back in his chair and relaxed, looking out through the fog as one side clearly began to push the other back. Thaddeus didn’t need to be told their work was going well. The fact that Gellert had no comments otherwise was enough to make it clear. 

He reached into his pocket and drew out a letter, folded and bound carefully by his own magic and seal, and held it out for Thaddeus. The man looked at it with a slight sense of apprehension, or perhaps more aptly, restrained curiosity coloured by a sense of that apprehension. Gellert didn’t often hand things to people without explanation. 

“For Arrabella,” Gellert clarified, noting the way Thaddeus’ eyes took in the intricate seal and the protections around it. Clearly it was a letter of importance. “There is going to be some slight restructuring soon. I’d like you to pass this on to her for me.” Their eyes met and, with slight hesitation, Thaddeus accepted the letter. He did not inspect it further. For that, Gellert offered him a note of warmth in his voice when he spoke again. “If your work here is successful, you should expect to see one of your own.” 

Thaddeus was careful not to show any reaction apart from a respectful nod and a “Yes, sir.”, but Gellert felt the lurch of anticipation in the man’s mind. 

He looked out over the training field again, smiled to himself, and stood. “Thank you, Thaddeus. And good luck.” 

With that, he slipped out of the barrier and held his own disillusionment charm until he was out of the camp and able to apparate back to the city. The long walk through the cold was not unpleasant after he’d seen the progress of Berlin’s training location, but he was eager to be back at the flat again. 

He did not like leaving Credence alone as much as he’d had to the past several weeks, even though Percival was there to keep him company. In that time, Percival had stubbornly refused to join him in discussion as they had in New York. Gellert had tried to ply him with bits of information about the movements of MACUSA and the European nations, but he remained steadfastly silent. Except to Credence. 

The boy reported that Percival was not disinclined to speak his mind while helping Credence study. Gellert had even caught flashes of those memories from the both of them, and apparently Percival had latched onto those bits of information about the outside world he’d received from Gellert and had not been shy about telling Credence what he thought of it. And of Gellert himself. Bless the boy for his loyalty. Credence took to listening, but Percival did not have a chance of pulling him away from Gellert based on what he was up to in the world at large. 

For the most part, Gellert found it exasperating, if a little amusing. He had hoped he could have avoided such a step back in his relationship with Percival. But he did have to admit it was a good sign Percival did not feel that way about the boy. Gellert did not miss the way Percival’s eyes lingered on Credence whenever they were in a room together. The man’s mind was heavily guarded around thoughts of Credence, and Gellert knew that he had been nothing but a gentleman to the boy, even if he did often try to sway Credence’s opinion on their keeper. Gellert also knew this was a farce. Even if it was one Percival did his very best to make himself believe. 

He made his way up the steps to their innocuous little flat, passing no one. The clack of the door lock announced his presence, and, once inside, he was able to locate the two immediately. Their thoughts were like a quiet murmur in the room that shouldn’t have been there at the end of the hall. 

The door was not closed, however both were out of sight sitting upon the couch with Credence’s books. Gellert heard the light patter of footsteps as he removed his gloves, rubbing his hands in the warmth. Credence appeared at the doorway, eyes wide and curious, apprehensive as they were every time Gellert came home and found Credence spending time with Percival. He wasn’t sure the boy would ever truly get over that. 

“Would you like to come out with me?” he asked, beckoning Credence down the hall with a gesture of his hand. Credence’s interest spiked. It wasn’t often Gellert invited him along anywhere, and he still wasn’t allowed outside on his own yet. Not without a proper disguise and safety precautions, Gellert had told him. Gellert hadn’t been lying. Not wholly, anyway. As much as he didn’t want Credence running away, he was fairly confident he did not have to worry about that any longer. Credence being recognised, as either himself or simply as a lone wizarding child, was another danger altogether. Berlin may have been full of his sympathisers, but it was just as full of the opposition, and word about his activities spread quickly there. It wasn’t as unlikely as one would think for Credence to be recognised if he went out as himself. 

Although, perhaps that was Gellert’s paranoia speaking. He’d grown accustomed to seeing the boy as he was now, small limbs carrying him smoothly down the hallway, subdued smile offered up to Gellert before reaching out for the hand raised to him. Credence came quickly into Gellert’s arms, inside the warmth of his open coat, avoiding the outer layer while it still held a touch of the cold outside. 

Percival’s figure stepped into the open doorway to see where Credence had gone. The man would have avoided showing himself only weeks ago until Gellert demanded it of him, but now he watched as they embraced. Gellert allowed their eyes to meet across the distance of the hall, and then bent to press a kiss to Credence’s cheek. He could practically feel Percival’s sigh from where he stood. The discomfort from the other man, followed by a deep, uncomfortable itch he would not acknowledge, spread through the space between them. 

Even Credence, who could not read thoughts nor sense emotions, could feel the undercurrent of tension at these times. The boy was learning to let himself ignore it. Percival’s expression remained stoic as he watched. 

“Go on, put on your coat.” Gellert straightened and let Credence go to the closet. While the boy dressed for the chill, Gellert relaxed against the door frame and watched Percival. The man’s arms crossed over his chest. Gellert sighed and shook his head at the display. He touched Credence’s shoulder to let the boy know he would be back and to continue getting dressed. Credence glanced up, caught sight of Percival, and understood. 

Gellert crossed the hall at a leisurely pace, even though it was beginning to grow too warm in his heavy coat, and stopped before Percival. “No welcome home for me?” 

Percival let out a quiet snort and didn’t otherwise respond, as was becoming his usual welcome, but then Gellert leaned in, a little too close for comfort. He tsked softly at the response, but he also noticed the way Percival didn’t pull back. When their eyes met again, Gellert let his teeth show. It wasn’t an unpleasant smile, not by his standards. Percival might disagree. 

“Credence,” he called, turning to glance back at the boy now standing ready at the other end of the hall, heavy coat draped over his shoulders and winter cap on as well as his mittens. Even all done up like that, the boy was a sight. Slightly too warm in the indoor heat, his cheeks bloomed with a rosy tint and he wrung his mittens together. It looked like a nervous fidget, but Gellert could feel that his mind was calm. Credence hadn’t gotten complacent, precisely, when Gellert and Percival were this close, but he had come to expect that it didn’t always mean danger. If Gellert did make a move against the other man though, Credence would be ready to get out of the way. 

When Gellert waved for him, he came. “What is it?” His arms swung by his sides and his little legs crossed the hall without hesitation. This would change once they were outside, Gellert knew. Credence’s head would drop and his internal monologue would turn dark as people passed beside them. He was too used to the streets of New York to stop the reaction totally, but whilst inside the flat, Credence had become bolder. 

“You should give Percy a kiss goodbye.” Gellert leaned against the edge of the door, making space for Credence to come closer even though the boy’s steps jerked to a halt. 

All at once Credence’s eyes were wide again, his expression uncertain. He didn’t look at Percival, too shy suddenly, and his cheeks coloured. “What?” He nearly stumbled over the word. 

Gellert inclined his head towards the man beside him, who was now glaring at the side of his head. “Go on. We’ll be leaving him here all alone for a while. It’s only polite.”

Finally Credence glanced towards Percival, and flushed a little deeper. “Where are we going?” he asked, half trying to distract Gellert and half curious that the need to say goodbye might imply something important. 

Gellert smiled indulgently. “You’ve been cooped up in this flat for too long. I’d like to take you out for sweets.” 

Credence swallowed. His immediate thought had been that he didn’t need sweets, but it was quickly overridden by the fact that sweets didn’t sound like a bad idea, either. He glanced back up at Graves, and Gellert could feel him working out the nuances of the situation in his mind. Credence _would_ like to go out, especially for something nice, but if he refused the request, he might not get to. Or the trip might be soured. 

Gellert let him work it out on his own. 

Percival, meanwhile, looked between the boy’s considering gaze and Gellert. He looked like he didn’t want to admit he was intimidated by the suggestion, and his mind confirmed it. He stood his ground, if awkwardly, hoping Credence would refuse and call Gellert out on the manipulation for what it was. 

Credence, however, did not feel the same gravity about the situation. He reached out for Percival’s arm, tentatively asking for permission as he took hold of his wrist. Gellert did not specify what kind of a kiss it had to be, and though Credence had barely ever kissed anyone in his life, that he had memory of, he knew it was merely an affectionate greeting or parting. Just like a hug. Something he’d seen done a hundred times on the steps of doorways in the neighbourhoods around him. Something he could easily mimic. So he leaned up on his toes, heart beating fast and hoping Graves would not be too upset about it. 

And Percival… Percival did not want to reject the boy. He wanted to reject this, on principle, but not Credence himself. Gellert could feel it tearing at him, the muscles in his back trying to stiffen back up as he bent down and offered the boy his cheek. 

Obediently, Credence placed a kiss upon it and then fell back to his heels. Percival straightened up not a second after. Gellert was the one who let the moment linger, refusing to move even when it was clear the other two were finished. 

Credence’s cheeks were still flushed, but he stood as tall as he could, trying not to let it show. Percival, in defiance, raised an eyebrow at Gellert. The action may have been one of mock patience, of confidence, even, but the tension in his body told Gellert, and possibly even Credence, just how affected it was. 

Gellert licked his lower lip and reached out to stroke the back of Credence’s neck. He savoured the strained moment between them all for a little longer before straightening. “Very good then. Thank you, Percival.” He offered the other man a smile and dipped a little too close again, but this time Percival leaned away. Apparently he had no reservations about insulting Gellert. 

Gellert only laughed. He placed his hand on Credence’s back and turned from Graves. “I hope you can entertain yourself. We’ll be back in a few hours.” 

Percival’s discomfort, and envy, followed them out the door. Gellert knew the man missed his freedom. He’d had more of it the previous time he’d been held prisoner, and though Credence’s company during the day helped immensely, he was still cooped up in a single bedroom when he was used to having full control of his movements. Telling him they were going out for sweets was tantamount to twisting the knife in his back. Especially accompanied by Credence. 

But Gellert had wanted to spend time with the boy. Just the two of them. The last few weeks he had Credence alone often in the evenings when Percival didn’t want to join them in the living room—Gellert let him out of his chains when he was home—and of course they had the privacy of Gellert’s bedroom at night, but that wasn’t always…enough. 

It was something Gellert mused on as he transfigured his face and his clothes and put a glamour over Credence to lighten his hair and adorn his face with freckles. As he pocketed his wand and took Credence’s hand in his own, he could not help feeling lighter somehow while they made their way towards the wizarding side of the city. 

Credence was pleased to be going out, if anxious as usual every time they came close to another person walking down the street, but Gellert could tell his own mood was not being influenced by the boy’s emotions. He knew these little, special moments between them would endear himself to Credence further, but that wasn’t the source of his enjoyment either. 

Their feet crunched through the well packed snow and mud tarnishing the city until it fell again and blanketed everything with an ethereal winter air, and Gellert sighed under his breath. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what this was. He’d felt it before, in rare sparks of giddiness and warmth in his youth when he’d dreamed of a future with the only boy he could imagine standing beside, and he knew he was not only endearing himself to Credence. Credence was endearing himself to Gellert as well. 

Credence was no Albus, but there was still a certain something pleasant in his chest when the boy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, head still bent, taking furtive stock of Gellert as they walked while not changing his rigid posture. Gellert caught it and offered him a small smile. Their little exchange went unnoticed by the world around them. 

There were several access points into the wizarding streets of Berlin, but most were kept within easy reach of foot traffic. Ducking into an alley or following the side of a muggle shop until they came upon a back door did the trick. The few times Credence had visited with him, he’d been unable to keep his head all the way down due to his eyes darting around so much. Just like then, his head lifted, still stiff, and Gellert could see how quickly and thoroughly he was trying to take it all in. The people dressed in heavy robes and billowing hats and the sudden lack of automobiles, replaced by carriages pulled by what Credence thought were odd, starving horses. 

Gellert caught him feeling bad for the creatures as they passed a few along the walk. He squeezed Credence’s hand. “They’re called thestrels, and they’re fed well enough, I assure you.” 

Credence looked up in question. 

“Only those who’ve witnessed death can see them,” Gellert explained, as though that explained anything, but to Credence it did, in a way. The creatures did look like something out of a nightmarish landscape, but if most people who passed couldn’t see them, they probably weren’t as bothered. 

The streets weren’t too much narrower on this side of the city, but the buildings were certainly closer together. The German wizarding population liked to keep their shops and houses as neat and as tidy as possible, all standing straight and clean with facades that echoed the old architecture of the surrounding muggle sections of the city. 

They could have been father and son out for a late stroll. The streets were well lit with both lamps that burned with everlasting flames looming bright overhead, brighter than usual flames, and the illuminated windows of the shops they passed. 

Credence stared inside every one. Sometimes, when something interesting caught his eye, he forgot to be so wary and craned his neck up to see better. Gellert’s hand in his was nevertheless a comfort when he remembered himself. 

The shop they were looking for was on the corner of a street in between a tailors and a lender, standing out from both with signs that both lit up and moved in bright swirling colours, all but hypnotising unsuspecting street goers to come inside. Credence’s little fingers gripped Gellert’s hand tighter when he caught sight of it, but Gellert felt excitement radiating from him rather than apprehension. 

Credence had never been in such a place, even for muggles. He had stared into open doorways of cake shops and candy parlours before. He’d known other children who went in, and he watched them with envy, but even as they’d beckoned him to follow, his feet never passed the doorstep. 

Gellert squeezed back and swept the boy inside. 

Immediately they were hit with a rush of warm air. The sudden change sent a shiver down Gellert’s spine and Credence’s shoulders rose up to his ears, unused to the sensation of magical heating. It seeped through their clothing and warmed them right up. Inexplicably proud to feel Credence’s awe, Gellert shot the boy a smile. “Let’s go take a look, shall we?”

Credence’s gaze moved to the chalkboard behind the counter, and he nodded. The shelves were covered with sweets of all varieties. Chocolates were at the back end of the shop and hard candies and toffees at the front to the side of a small seating area for guests to enjoy their purchases. Gummies and licorice strings and all sorts of other things Credence had surely never seen sat in the middle. The menu held an assortment of cakes that could be prepared, with samples under a glass counter, as well as teas and coffees. 

Catching onto Credence feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Gellert steered him towards the chocolates first, as those were a particular delight of his own. “You can pick out anything you like,” he murmured to Credence as they passed an elderly couple looking through an assortment of truffles. “Dark chocolate with caramel are one of my favourites.” He plucked a box off the shelf, breaking the ice somewhat for the boy, and held it out to Credence. 

Gingerly, Credence took it and glanced up at Gellert. Its label described a rich chocolate, measured in percentage of cocoa, paired with creamy caramels and nougats. Only when Gellert nodded did he open the lid and peer inside. Credence closed it quickly, nervous about opening anything even when he had permission, but extremely satisfied. He handed the box back. 

“Go find one for yourself,” Gellert instructed. 

On cue, Credence began looking around the room. Tentatively, he raised his hand to the table beside him piled high with boxes of chocolates. His fingers hovered over some of the loose bars, but he didn’t touch any of it. Credence walked the room like that, fingers trailing just inches away from the products as he read their labels, his mind a whir of flavours. Most of them he had to infer what they would actually taste like, as he’d never had the chance to learn himself. 

Gellert followed his progress, marvelling at how like a real boy Credence looked. With his altered features, he could have been a completely different person. Gellert pulled back from Credence’s mind and let himself indulge in the fantasy of this boy being a stranger he’d met in a sweets shop, one who would happily accept the offer of a treat. The thought was as sweet as Credence seemed. His face had not been altered in shape, but the freckles and the lightness of his hair gave him a more approachable air than he usually wore. With the look of awe still upon his face, Credence almost appeared merry. 

Finally, he stopped in front of a display for chocolate covered cherries. The idea of the two sweets together seemed to have him transfixed. Somehow, he had even passed over the box of chocolate animals that were supposed to become animated upon opening just next to it. 

Gellert approached and didn’t try to hide his amusement. “A good choice.” He plucked one off the shelf Credence had finished reading and was staring at. 

For a split second, Credence turned, ready to protest Gellert buying him anything, but then his eyes caught on Gellert, boxes in hand and features lifted in a crooked smile. Even without being in the boy’s mind, Gellert could see his thoughts rearranging themselves. When Credence looked at Gellert now, he sometimes thought of indulgence. Other times he thought of intensity, of power, and the fragility of his own trust. But there were times Gellert had brought out an appreciation for indulgence in him in a way that no one else ever had before. In the right situation, all Gellert had to do was lift the corner of his mouth and think about the boy in a way that put a certain fondness in his eyes, and Credence’s esteem would rise instantly. A sweets shop was one of those situations. 

Credence looked like he was wrestling with himself over whatever he was thinking, but Gellert’s smile only grew wider. If Credence was wrestling, he’d already won. “These are for you now. No refusing; you’ve never tried them.” He placed the box in Credence’s hands and Credence could not argue. He didn’t look like he wanted to very much either. “Now, let’s see what else we can find.” Gellert squeezed his shoulder and went to look around the rest of the shop. 

At first, Credence followed. He kept the box of cherry chocolates clutched tightly in his hands like he feared both dropping it and the shopkeeper thinking he was going to steal it if he didn’t keep it in view at all times, but Gellert moved slowly. So slowly that Credence was forced to either relax, or make himself sore. 

“What do you think of sour candies?” Gellert prompted, looking at a jar of powdered rock candies. 

“I’ve had the lime once.” Finally, something Credence could offer back. “I liked it. It was _really_ sour, but it was different. Even from other candies.” He got up on his toes to look into the jar and found green sticks mixed with yellow. “Ma never allowed candy, but some of the other children around had them. I only got to try a few kinds, and after a while it didn’t matter much anymore. I always really, _really_ wanted some when I was little. I used to think up ways I could sneak out, run down the street, and raid the shop. Nothing big, just take a handful and no one would know. I never did though.” 

Gellert laid an arm around Credence’s back and squeezed his shoulder. “Childish hopes and dreams fade as we grow older, but sometimes they don’t disappear entirely.” He reached into the jar and took out several sticks of lime, and two lemon flavoured candies. He handed them to Credence, all but one of the lemon sticks. “I had a friend who liked these as a boy. The drops, that is. To this day I believe he still keeps them around.” After he considered it for a moment, he gave it to Credence to carry with the others. 

The boy looked them over like they held some mystery he might discern rather than just ask Gellert outright. For that, Gellert gave him a pat on the head and stroked his hair with fondness. Given the chance, Credence would always prefer to figure something out on his own than speak up. 

“Let’s see what else might be good…” Gellert turned back to browsing, and this time he let Credence’s thoughts narrow down his choices. 

By the end of it, Credence had relented to the fact that Gellert was listening anyway, and began to ask questions about the items on display. They managed to collect a small assortment, and Gellert helped Credence carry them to the counter. 

Gellert paid for their purchase along with two cups of tea while Credence stood silently and kept his head down, as he would have done even if he had been grown and alone, paying for the items himself. The shopkeeper, however, must have taken it as a sign the boy was either overly shy or unhappy. 

“Would you like to carry the bag, honey?” she asked, leaning over the counter to see Credence better. “I bet your papa wouldn’t mind.” She smiled, and Gellert looked on with curiosity. 

Credence’s head shot up, but his shoulders hunched defensively, startled at being addressed. He hadn’t expected it. He looked at her like he didn’t know what to say. Belatedly, Gellert realised it wasn’t just because he was being addressed, it was because he was being addressed in a normal wizarding environment, as a normal wizard, by a normal witch just going about her day, and Credence hadn’t been prepared for it. He’d expected Gellert would be there to buffer conversation as he had done when they’d visited the wizarding streets for his extra clothing. 

She nudged the bag closer for Credence to reach. 

“I think he’d like that very much.” Gellert passed it down to Credence, who took it when offered. The wash of relief that came over the boy was almost palpable. Gellert turned back to the woman and smiled. “Thank you.” 

He and Credence went to find one of the tables far away from the counter. A spot beside the window did nicely, and Gellert laid down their cups of tea. “Open it,” he instructed. “Might as well indulge a little while we’re here, don’t you think?” 

That got Credence to smile. The boy instantly felt better when it was just them. Funny how much of a difference it was from the way Credence had been. The way he scooted himself up and leaned forward to make up for his height as he opened the bag and began to take out one box or bag of sweets after another, quiet excitement thrumming through him all the while, reminded Gellert of their meetings early on. When he’d taken Credence out for lunch, or dinner the couple times he’d been able to get away with it, the boy had been so shy, but so elated. Absolutely overwhelmed, Gellert had surmised, but also happy. When Credence had trusted him enough, the boy practically glowed with it. He was beginning to see the signs of that glow in Credence again. 

Credence’s fingers fell atop the box of chocolate covered cherries and strummed there. The packaging wasn’t cheap. It gleamed in gold lettering atop a matte black surface that was sturdy and yet somewhat soft to Credence’s fingertips. Gellert caught him thinking it would be a shame to open and ruin something so nice. 

He chuckled and Credence looked up, realising at once Gellert caught the stray thought. He blushed and removed the cover, embarrassed at being caught so out of place, and yet, if Gellert wasn’t mistaken, there was a seed of amusement deep down inside him as well. 

“You can keep the box if you like, but my tastes run towards far prettier things.” Gellert reached out and snatched one of the cherries from Credence’s open box and popped it in his mouth. 

The boy looked up at him, trying to fight a smile of his own. And then Credence shook his head and took one of the cherries for himself. Unlike Gellert, he inspected it thoroughly first. Not for defects, but for appreciation. The outer chocolate layer glittered with barely visible crystals of red and was shaped in delicate swirls all the way around a perfect sphere. 

Whenever Credence ate something he enjoyed, he savoured it. He did not merely eat his rare treats with a casual appreciation of the taste. He came up with methods of eating them to prolong the act of consumption. With a chocolate striped cookie he’d once been given as a child, he’d found it best to meticulously lick away a portion of the chocolate part, and then consume the cookie part as slowly as possible before moving onto the next section. Immediately he came up with a similar plan for the chocolate cherries, and even though he’d not done such a thing since he was barely out of his real childhood, he could not imagine just popping the whole thing in his mouth as Gellert had done. 

Carefully, Credence brought it to his lips and began to lick away at the outer layering of chocolate. Occasionally, he allowed himself to slice off a sliver with his front teeth before allowing that, too, to melt in his mouth. It struck him after only several licks that this was like no chocolate he’d tasted before. It was rich and _creamy_ , but most peculiarly of all, it seemed to warm him from the inside as he continued eating. 

He did not notice until perhaps a minute later that Gellert was staring. 

Credence paused, cherry at his lips, now bared to the world with half its chocolate coating removed. The flush of colour that spread over his face when Gellert smiled was worth the interruption. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Gellert said too softly for the shopkeeper to overhear, and picked out one of his own chocolates. He chewed slowly, savouring the richness before the caramel hit his tongue and imagined what Credence’s treat must taste like. Or his lips after he was done with it. His thoughts must have been showing on his face because Credence suddenly flushed a deeper shade of red and turned his eyes down to the box. 

The boy thought about devouring the whole thing at once after that, but he really did enjoy drawing the process out. And Gellert had just told him not to do that. He knew he didn’t have to do everything Gellert asked of him, and a part of him still wanted to make that known, but—and Gellert’s smile grew even wider as he felt Credence’s thoughts shift—Credence did like the way he was being watched. Even now, with Gellert so obviously listening in. At least they didn’t have to speak out loud and let the other patrons of the shop hear. 

It wasn’t surprising Credence would consider that. He was always wary of strangers. Of anyone, really. Gellert had felt that about him from the moment he’d laid eyes on the boy. Credence never truly relaxed in the presence of other people, not until Gellert had had him in his arms, wrapped up tight and, for once, safe. The first time Credence had felt that way was in an alley behind the old church. It had taken a good minute of Gellert holding him for it to happen, but when it did, it was touching. Even then, when Gellert had thought he’d been just a squib. Credence had been disgustingly clingy at times back then, but there were some times Gellert had understood why. 

Truthfully, Credence’s personality hadn’t changed much. He just allowed himself to show more to Gellert now—his bitterness and resilience, but his affection, too. It was an improvement, overall. 

Credence licked his fingers clean after he’d chewed away the last of the cherry. Not a speck was left behind. He watched Gellert watching him, his breath shallower than usual and his attention fixed. Even though Gellert did not look like himself at the moment, Credence was imagining he could see his real face behind the transfiguration. This unfamiliar face wore the same expressions Gellert did, had the same ticks and fluidity in his movements, and Credence picked up on those little details. There was a stirring in the boy’s gut, the more he imagined the real Gellert sitting across from him. Just as Credence had dared to do with ‘Mr. Graves’ on those occasions Gellert took him out for lunch. 

It struck Gellert harder than he thought it would, the reciprocal heat in his own groin at being watched in such a manner by this boy, looking so light and angelic. Gellert preferred Credence’s real features—the dark hair, eyes, and milky skin, but it wasn’t as hard to see the real Credence through the disguise as it was to see the real Gellert. 

“What do you say we head home and finish the rest of our treats there?” 

The question was as casual as could be, but Credence picked up on Gellert’s meaning immediately. “Yes, I. I’d like that.” His words came out breathier than usual, and probably more than he’d meant them to, since he tried to straighten himself up and act normal the moment he heard what he sounded like. 

Gellert just smiled and rose from the table, sweeping their boxes back together and into the bag with a flick of his wand. No need to draw attention to himself by not using one. He put an arm around Credence’s back as the boy rose from the table more awkwardly, and in no time at all they were out the door again, leaving the warmth and the sweet aroma of the shop behind. 

Gellert held Credence close and focused on the feel of the boy’s body against his. Credence’s shoulders were slender and he only came up to Gellert’s waist, but he fit all that much better for it. At least Gellert thought so. 

The streets at this hour were far less trafficked than when they’d arrived, and even then it had been getting late. Without such large crowds, Gellert took a path away from the main streets to avoid being so conspicuous, or run the risk of being watched or stopped by cautious aurors. 

The wizarding world did not yet know that Credence lived and was now a child, and Gellert intended to keep it that way for as long as he could. At a glance they looked as innocent as a father and son heading home for the night, but he was not going to take chances in the city he was residing in. Relocating wouldn’t be impossible, but he would rather avoid it. He’d spent long enough moving from one place to another with no end in sight, and he had a foothold now. 

Gellert mused as they walked, energised by the stirrings of desire Credence brought out in him as well as the progress he was making within the surrounding cities. His thoughts drifted to the flat and, more specifically, his bed and the boy beside him. Some privacy and relaxation would do them both good. 

They were interrupted by the tug of Credence’s hand. When Gellert looked down, he found the boy staring at a brick wall with posters scattered across it. One in particular drew his eye, and immediately Gellert saw why. 

A two dimensional fist raised high in the air clutched tight to a wand, but unlike the Second Salem Philanthropic Society’s emblem, this wand was not broken. Rays of light shown from the tip and cast like beacons to the edges of the poster, animated in a shimmering pattern that was unobtrusive enough for onlookers not to register that it was moving at all until they caught it out of the corner of their eye. Above the wand laid a bold typeface: _Aufstieg der Magie_ , and below: _Das Zeitalter der Zauberei_. 

Credence thought better of raising his hand up to touch it, but only just. “What is this…?” He stared up at the paper, taller than he was, on weathered parchment, but with rich colours and protected from the elements by a soft touch of magic in a way that muggle posters could never be. 

Gellert stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms loosely around Credence, admiring the image. “The Rise of Magic,” he began to read. “This is our age. The ‘Wizarding Age’. This is the _revolution_ , Credence.” 

Credence glanced up at him with wide eyes. The boy hadn’t expected to find posters. “But why does it look like the Second Salem emblem?” He hushed his tone, quiet as it was already, afraid there was anyone around to hear him speak. 

“It’s a play off the restrictions on magic in America. Your little church has a history with our people. Small a flock as you may currently be, that symbol is still recognisable among wizards. And this is the way they counter it.” Gellert reached out as Credence had nearly done and stroked one gloved finger down a ray of magic. 

Credence clenched his fist. A hot anger began to burn under his skin. At Ma and the church and all the other children, even the ones much to young to fend for themselves but old enough that they should have been able to think. They were wizardkind’s enemies. They’d said so themselves at every chance they got. Credence had been there to hear it with his own ears, had been forced to recite it with his own tongue, but it didn’t quite sink in fully until he saw their emblem acknowledged by the wizarding world. Even if they reversed it in retaliation. 

Everything Gellert, as Graves, had said about the way wizards lived versus the way they should have lived came back to Credence’s mind. In those early days, Gellert had talked much about the church and what his Ma did to Credence. He was kinder than she had ever been. That was why it had hurt so much more when it turned out to be false. But Credence _was_ a wizard now. Or he was at least on their side, if not able to do magic very well, himself. He had never felt like his place at the church fit. He’d never felt empathy with their cause, only shame and remorse that he could not. Now, he felt anything but. 

Gellert reached up and gripped the boy’s shoulders. “Best not to get too worked up out here.” He rubbed Credence’s joints through the heavy coat the boy wore and leaned down. “You’re starting to unravel at the edges.” There was amusement in his tone, but Credence’s form really was starting to get hazy. 

Credence swallowed and pulled his eyes away from the poster. He tried to shove it all back down, and for once, it wasn’t so bad. Not with Gellert’s hands at his shoulders letting Credence lean against him. The boy closed his eyes. “I’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Just….” 

“I know.” Gellert drew him back into an embrace. It was impeded by layers of cold fabric, but still comforting. “You have a fire inside you, Credence, and your church was very good at stoking it. But I rather liked the rubble you left of the place.” 

Surprised, Credence looked over his shoulder and found Gellert smiling. The boy was such a treasure. Even in the midst of his own cold fury for the church he’d been raised in, he had not expected Gellert to share the sentiment. “You don’t think I…went too far?” _That what he did was wrong?_ Gellert heard echo in Credence’s mind although the boy stopped short of saying it aloud. 

Gellert shook his head. “No.” He squeezed his arms tight around the boy, feeling Credence’s chest swell with emotion. “I think you did what you had to. And what you _wanted_ to. And I do not blame you for that.” 

Credence’s breath hitched. A shiver came over him. Gellert often encouraged Credence not to be ashamed of his darker desires, and actions, but it was difficult to believe it. But Credence was starting to. 

Gellert’s smile spread wider. “I like it when you go after what you want. When you let yourself _go_.” He bent to whisper the words into Credence’s ear, hovering over him so that the boy was shrouded from all around him, had there been onlookers to see. Credence shivered again, and this time leaned back into Gellert’s body. It was too tempting not to stroke his fingers against Credence’s cheek even as Credence took one last glance at the poster. 

“Let’s get you home.” Gellert placed chaste lips against Credence’s temple and led him away. 

Credence did not try to linger. The new image of the wand raised high with light shining from its core settled into his mind. Gellert could hear the way he relished the idea of it replacing his old emblem. It was a feeling inside him akin to blasphemy, but it lifted Credence up instead of bringing him down. 

Hand in hand, they walked to the outskirts of the wizarding streets and passed quietly through a wall back into the muggle side of Berlin. It was noticeably quieter, apart from the back streets they had walked. Muggles tended to stay inside and out of the cold without the heating charms wizards had, and their motor vehicles took them away from the sidewalks. Gellert suspected they had a tendency to turn in earlier, too, for whatever cultural reason wizards did not share. Perhaps it was an innate fear of the dark instilled in those without magic. 

Credence kept close to Gellert’s side the whole way back to the flat, now warier of keeping his head down after leaving the wizarding streets. One look inside his head told Gellert his excitement hadn’t diminished in the least though. Credence repeated German words and their English meanings in his head again and again just so he would not forget, and it tickled Gellert to hear his boy whispering the name of the revolution in the back of his mind. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Gellert swept Credence up in his arms. The glamour dropped from the boy as fast as the bag of sweets, and Gellert’s face melted back into his own as he pressed the boy between himself and the wall. Credence let out a squeak somewhere between surprise and delight until their eyes caught. It was a small miracle that Gellert could do something so quick and unexpected like that, physically, and Credence did not immediately jerk away in reflex. He slowed down once he’d caught the boy, leaning in and nuzzling up Credence’s neck. It wasn’t as long as it had once been, but the skin there was softer and creamier than anything Gellert had had the pleasure of touching before. He relished it against his lips with soft kisses. 

Credence whimpered. Suddenly everything was too hot. Gellert hadn’t even allowed time to take off their coats, and Credence was going to start sweating in a minute. He wriggled his shoulders, trying to get free to no avail. The hat and mittens at least he could easily get rid of. 

Gellert chuckled through the kisses. With very little effort, the laces on Credence’s boots untied themselves and the coat slipped from his shoulders, slithering out from between them. Layers of outer clothing came next and though Credence helped in kicking off his boots, he still whimpered, glancing to the hall. 

Graves stood at the doorway, chain taut behind him. He stared at the two of them, but the coldness in his gaze was all for Gellert. 

Gellert turned Credence’s attention back to him with a touch to his cheek. “Pay no attention. He’s only envious.” He knew Percival could hear him. He didn’t care. It was about time the man heard it outright. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gellert saw Percival’s hands clench. He kissed Credence softly on the cheek and let the boy down. His own winter clothing fell away and slipped itself back onto the coat rack before he moved to take Credence’s hand again. There was a new stiffness in the boy’s spine, and though he stayed close to Gellert, he did not try to hide behind him or otherwise shy away from his Mr. Graves’ eye. 

With Gellert’s bedroom so close to Percival’s, they were forced to approach. Gellert was undeterred in meeting Percival’s gaze as he did so, just as Percival refused to step back or look away. 

Credence took a breath when they reached Gellert’s door and it swung open for them. He glanced up at Percival, daring that much. He did it out of curiosity, because of what Gellert kept saying about the man. Gellert felt the boy’s mind searching for any sign that Graves might soften, but he found none. 

“Don’t wait up.” Gellert’s words to Percival were soft, but provoking nonetheless. Gently, he tugged Credence inside the room before Percival had the chance to say anything. The last impression Gellert had of the man’s mind before the door was shut between them was of apprehension more than distaste. Percival knew very well what they were about to do, and it unsettled the man in ways he still wanted to avoid. 

Gellert put a charm up against the door and silenced all sound from the inside and out. For once, Credence did not appear as perturbed as usual by the minor confrontation in the hallway. He stepped closer to Gellert as soon as Gellert was finished with the spell and held his arms out like he wanted to be picked up. Which was exactly what Gellert did. 

He grinned at Credence and let the boy wrap his legs around his waist. He’d been half hard since the sweets shop, and dragging Credence’s little body up his own felt wonderful. He walked them towards the bed and, with a crooked smile, fell atop the boy, bouncing lightly on the way down. 

Credence _laughed_. Bright and high as a bell, the sound was so rare. Precious, one might even say. This boy never laughed. So Gellert grinned and nuzzled his whiskers against the soft skin of Credence’s cheek, tickling him until the boy did it again. Gellert was laughing, too. Soft, but unrestrained. Genuine. It was so nice to be able to do this with Credence. He had certainly not forgotten why they were there in the greater scheme of things, but it could have been so very different. Credence could have been nowhere near as beautiful as he was, nor as desirous of Gellert’s affection as he was. 

Gellert stopped only when Credence was out of breath, and kissed him softly. As much as he’d laughed, it was still ingrained into Credence that he should hold it in as much as he could, which only winded him further. Gellert stroked his hands down Credence’s slender frame and willed the buttons of his clothes to undo themselves. 

As the mood changed, Credence’s knees drew up and his toes curled against Gellert’s thighs in anticipation. No longer was the boy so nervous about all this. There was still an underlying sense of anxiety at just being within such proximity to another person, one that might never go away, but Gellert knew it would fade quickly for the time being. The moment he pressed Credence down and caged him in an embrace, the boy’s mind began to ease. Further still when Gellert began kissing down his neck and biting softly where he liked. 

The more he trapped Credence in the embrace, cocooning him with warmth and solidity and the pleasure of their bodies rubbing together, the more Credence relaxed. He was the perfect size for it. If he’d been grown, he would have been too tall for it to work as well, and Gellert suspected the boy knew as much. As his own clothes fell away, Credence tried to burrow against him. His head tucked in the crook of Gellert’s neck and his body squirmed to get as much friction as he could. 

Gellert cupped his hands around Credence’s face and spent long moments just kissing him, working to instill a calmness in the boy and ramp up the desire that had been paused while they were laughing. It worked. The one thing Credence loved above all was attention. Devotion. He loved it when Gellert put his hands on him and he became Gellert’s absolute focus. 

Gellert loved the boy’s desire for it. 

When they were both free of clothing and Credence’s squirming had gotten a little more insistent, Gellert pushed him back on the bed so they could get more comfortable. The minute he laid back down against Credence, the boy was around him again, arms and legs hooking around his limbs tightly to pull him in, and Gellert couldn’t help chuckling just a little. 

He palmed the flesh of Credence’s thigh and arse cheek and Credence whimpered in anticipation of what would come next. He didn’t have to wait long. With a whispered lubrication spell, Gellert eased a finger inside of him. Credence’s squirming resumed the moment Gellert began stroking, finding that sweet spot inside him and teasing him little by little. 

Gellert felt impatient tonight. He’d been out all day and many days before this, and he was beginning to crave Credence’s body at the most inopportune times. It was easy to see this becoming an addiction if he allowed it. Before he knew it, two fingers were inside Credence, working him open as thoroughly as he could. 

Credence was too shy to speak much during these encounters, unless Gellert asked him a direct question, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Half of them remained incoherent, almost more feelings than words, the repetition of ‘ _please, please, please_ ’ from the boy’s mind turning into a stray tangent every now and again and then pulled back into another mantra the moment Gellert did something different. He turned to kiss the boy’s fingers where they clutched at his shoulder, and Credence fixated on the sight of it, holding his breath. It was difficult for him, sometimes, to reconcile Gellert being so tender when he’d once been so cruel, and when Credence knew there were things Gellert did that he didn’t see, and others he did see, such as Graves being locked up in the room next door. The image of Gellert’s eyes hooded and his features relaxed as he pressed his lips to Credence’s fingers stuck in the boy’s mind, and even Gellert had to admit he was flattered. When he opened his eyes and met Credence’s, he deliberately stroked just right, just to see the boy’s face in such pleasure. 

Credence’s plush lips parted, breathing deeply and as silently as he could, and Gellert couldn’t wait any longer. He lifted the boy’s hips and encouraged him to let Gellert move back just enough to line himself up, watching as the flushed head of his cock pressed at the ring of Credence’s entrance. He licked his lower lip and Credence whined. Credence was so small against him. It was a miracle his body could take it, even with the aid of magical preparation. 

Credence held still, but the mantras in his head amplified, willing Gellert to come closer, to push inside him. They both knew Gellert could listen in at any time, but Credence wasn’t focused on that. If anything, he was begging Gellert to listen, even if he steadfastly refused to utter it aloud. 

Finally, Gellert did. With one steady push, he sank inside. It didn’t prevent Credence from wincing, but with a hand to the boy’s side and a bit of wandless magic to ease the pain and relax the muscles, Gellert aided the discomfort. He only wanted Credence to feel _him_ just then. Nothing else. No distractions. With that thought in mind, he began to thrust. 

Credence’s hands scrabbled at the back of his neck, so he leaned down to press his mouth against the boy’s. He did so in between Credence’s quiet gasps until his body accommodated and he was kissing back, still not the most experienced with it, but making up for it greatly in fervour. 

Gellert liked that. Liked it much more than a polished lover or someone trying too hard to be what he wanted. There had been too many occasions like that with one of his followers trying to predict what he might want and make themselves available. It never worked out well for them in the end. Credence was usually too overwhelmed to think about it, and he’d been cured of that particular desire somewhat since New York, even if he still yearned for Gellert’s attention and affection more than anything. 

The boy had only dreamed he could receive pleasure like this. He clung to Gellert, thinking that if he let go even a little bit, he might disappear. That was all Credence could do. Gellert’s thrusts pinned him to the bed as well as his arms caged Credence in. All Credence could do was hold on. Let Gellert kiss him, nip at his lip and his earlobe and pet his hair, let Gellert’s hands roam wherever they wanted, even down to his straining little cock. Gellert set the pace, but in Credence’s head, he was not silent. There, Credence could show him exactly how good it felt and how he wanted it. Credence didn’t know how much he listened in, but Gellert often responded, unless he wanted to tease the boy. 

That night was not a night for teasing. Gellert’s pace picked up and did not falter. He was surprised by the strength of his own desire. He’d been aroused ever since Credence had had that chocolate cherry in his mouth, licking it down so methodically until he found the treat inside, and then nibbling that until it was gone. Gellert imagined Credence giving the same amount of attention to his cock one day, but not now. Now, he was already too far gone, buried inside the boy, his own breath hitching as much as Credence’s. 

He raised himself up to look down upon the boy, watching his cock sink into Credence’s little body. He pressed his hand flat over Credence’s groin, providing friction against his cock and at the same time feeling _himself_ sliding underneath layers of Credence’s muscle and flesh. His teeth clenched, watching carefully as he slid in and out, noting the subtle rise of the boy’s stomach as well as he could feel it. He came like that, buried inside Credence, hips stuttering fast enough that he would surely have hurt the boy without the aid of magic until he reached his climax and stilled as deep as he could get, crouched over the boy. 

Credence whined, long and low. He wanted more, but also couldn’t believe what he had just done with Gellert. He’d never tried to touch his stomach there before while Gellert was inside him. He had not known the man would be able to feel it if he just pressed his hand there while driving in at the right angle. It left Credence trembling at the things his own body could do. It was almost frightening. 

But then Gellert bent down and pressed a kiss to Credence’s temple and then to his cheek. Gellert had caught the boy’s mind racing. He stroked his hands through Credence’s hair and drew fingers softly down his chest, all the way to his stomach. “No need to worry,” he whispered, mindful of Credence’s apprehension. “That’s perfectly natural. And quite attractive, I might add.” 

Credence placed his own hand there, wondering what it felt like from the outside, while Gellert moved his down to begin stroking Credence again. The boy’s lips parted. Gellert still hadn’t pulled out yet, nor was he prepared to. His erection hadn’t diminished yet either, so when he thrust his hips, gently this time, Credence felt it. His mouth dropped open farther when Gellert kept going, slow with his thrusts, being sensitive himself after just coming, but the pace of his fingers quickening. 

Credence fisted his hands in the bed sheets. He couldn’t move, too overwhelmed with sensation, and Gellert had pulled back just far enough that he was out of reach of Credence’s slender arms. All the boy could do was lay there and experience the pleasure. 

Gellert laid his palm down on Credence’s lower belly again, even though it wasn’t as easy to feel his cock from that angle. The boy’s mind kept going there, regardless, and the sight of Gellert’s hand on his stomach, so large by comparison beneath his fingers stroking Credence’s own cock, had the desired effect. Credence came, trembling. 

Gellert squeezed just that much more around the boy’s cock and stilled his hips while waves of sensation hooded the boy’s eyes. It wasn’t until Credence slumped back against the sheets, going completely limp, that Gellert finally pulled out. He laid down next to Credence and stroked the sweat away from his temple before taking the boy into his arms. 

Credence let it happen as though he were a rag doll, content to be moved where Gellert willed. He had the strangest thought of the obscurus inside him, purring. For once he thought of it as settled and content, secure in the certainty that Gellert didn’t want to banish it, or any part of Credence that came with it. And Credence…he knew he should maybe have wanted it gone. That’s what that woman, Tina, would have probably told him, and honestly so with his best interests at heart. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let it go. It was as much a part of him, as familiar as his pain and his anger and all the emotions that had been with him for years. The ones he’d always tried to keep hidden. The ones Ma had always suspected in him. It was a strange thought to have, especially just then, but for once Credence felt accepted as himself. 

“That’s right,” Gellert said softly, fingers creeping up the back of Credence’s neck with soothing pressure. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.” 

Gellert waved his hand for a simple cleaning charm and then helped lift Credence up as the covers slid out from underneath them and then settled over their shoulders. Credence snuggled in close, more content than he’d been in a long time, all thoughts of the outside world distant once again. 

Even Graves didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments on this fic. I appreciate every one of them even though I am so terrible at replying.

Days passed and Grindelwald continued to leave Credence in Percival’s care. Or maybe he was leaving Percival in Credence’s care. It was hard to tell these days, days that dragged on, punctuated by the creak of the front door and the whirlwind that was Grindelwald pulling the boy from Percival’s side like a magnet and sweeping him into his arms. What had been quiet hours of questions and study before then became a ruckus banter between Grindelwald and, well, mostly himself. Credence listened and responded quietly. Usually at Percival as well unless he was forced to join in a conversation. 

Percival couldn’t tell the time of day he preferred. There were moments of calm with Credence by his side, warm body curled up next to him on the couch in his room, angled away with a book propped up in his lap, but there were hours spent waiting with nothing but dread and anxiety pooling in his gut. 

Sometimes Credence noticed. Percival was pretty sure the boy pitied him. And what a turn that was. Credence Barebone, pitying him. He would never have imagined himself in this situation a month ago. 

Whenever it happened, the boy tried to distract him. When Percival got a faraway look in his eyes and his focus lingered too long on the door, Credence would ask him a question, or sit a little closer, dig his shoulder against Percival’s side a little harder, pretending he was just trying to get comfortable. It was…sweet. 

Percival couldn’t help but like Credence. And didn’t that just tear him up inside. 

All this would have been so much easier if he’d been able to hate the boy, for turning a blind eye to his imprisonment, for letting Grindelwald do whatever he pleased without a fight. Percival wrestled with those thoughts back and forth for too long before forcing them away into the deep recesses of his mind. Because he also knew this wasn’t Credence’s decision. It wasn’t the boy’s choice to be here, and if it was, then he hadn’t had any other choices to start with. 

Grindelwald was easier to blame. Even if he wasn’t easier to fight. 

A clock ticked somewhere in the hall, so faint Percival only heard it when the apartment was absolutely silent. He was grateful it had not been in his room. He may have gone mad. 

But the times he spent outside when Grindelwald was home and Credence wandered freely through the rooms, Percival wasn’t sure were any better. His back never released its tension. His hands never gripped the silverware at dinner so hard in his life. Every word between himself and Grindelwald was dragged out of him, but at least he was doing something. At least he wasn’t left in the dark. 

But when Grindelwald was home, Percival had to watch them together. When he was home, Credence would lighten like Grindelwald was the sun. His fingers would trail along the texture of the wall, their soft pads running over rough indentations as he walked its length, suddenly free and happy to move where he pleased. When Credence was alone in the apartment with Percival, he slunk from room to room. When day turned to night and Grindelwald was late, Credence became barely more than his shadow, disappearing between the spaces of the hallway lamps, into Percival’s room and back out again when he was tired and melancholy. 

Every time, Percival watched him go and wished, desperately wished, that he could be some measure of comfort to the boy. Every late night, the insecurities inside Credence came out. His head would begin to hang as the sun descended and Grindelwald did not return. The quiet expectancy in his eyes began to diminish, and with his sinking spirits came a fog over the rooms. 

At first barely noticeable to the naked eye, Percival thought he was imagining it, thought Credence’s mood was affecting him. That he was too observant and too invested. Because he was. He was rapidly become far too invested in this boy and his well-being. But then, one night when Grindelwald was late again and it was thick as ever, as Percival slumped against the armrest of his couch, lethargic and dull as Credence had been growing, he lifted his hand and noted that it had been drained of colour. The thick veins and coarse hairs along the back had become remarkably dull. In a haze he lifted it before his face and turned it over to inspect before he noticed that it wasn’t just his hand. The plates of half eaten fruit that should have held the bright blush of cherries seemed…not right. 

He closed his eyes and pinched them shut, but when he opened them again, the plates were still as dull as his own skin. The more Percival took in the room, the more he began to realise that it was not his vision and it was not the real colour of the objects before him. There was a film in the air, hanging subtle but heavy, pervasive everywhere he looked. When he rubbed his fingers together, he could not touch it, yet it was unquestionably there. 

It was only when he saw Credence again, lingering listlessly by the door as he wandered from one room to the next, silent as the shadows, that Percival realised it was coming from the boy. The air around him sucked in the light, thicker with it than anywhere else in the room.

“Credence, you’re…leaking,” Percival had said. He hadn’t known what else to call it. All he could think, in slight alarm, was that it had something to do with the obscurus inside him. 

Credence looked down at himself, from his hands to his feet, and then back up at Percival in a daze of despondency. He appeared not to have noticed until then, and apparently had no comment on it. 

The haze did not disperse until Grindelwald returned late that night. And Grindelwald noticed it. Percival heard the man murmuring to Credence quietly from the other room, words he was not granted permission to overhear, and after that the particles blanketing the air gradually diminished. By morning they were gone. 

There were times Credence, when bored especially, seemed every inch the child he looked. 

When they’d been studying too long without distractions, Credence’s book would slowly lower and his eyes would drift. Most often it was somewhere into the middle distance. When he got tired and antsy, he couldn’t sit still. The books would be pushed aside and Credence would roll onto his side on the couch. Then onto his back. He’d try lifting his legs into the air next, unfurling from a ball of restlessness the more he realised he was not about to be scolded for being so. 

He would twist about and contort himself into all manner of positions just to stretch, or just to see if he could, it seemed. At first, Percival thought it amusing. A small delight in an otherwise monotonous day. But the longer he watched and the more Credence’s clothing fitted taut against his small frame, hinting at the roundness and softness that lay beneath in infinitely flexible poses…. Well. It was all to easy to imagine Credence contorting himself in such ways later that night. Under the eyes and hands of only one man.

The images plagued Percival’s mind, even when he knew Grindelwald would dip in and catch them. He couldn’t force them down. The way Credence was so unassuming about it all, so unaware that his fidgeting and flopping about, his little grunts of frustration and boredom, the way he stretched and swung his arms to and fro, would have any correlation to the far lewder acts Percival knew he committed with Grindelwald every night. 

In many ways, Credence had never had the chance to grow up, Percival concluded. There were times when he spoke at dinner, or over their reading, when he sounded thoughtful, if quiet, and certain enough in his understanding of his own positions and the world that Percival glimpsed the young man he was meant to be, only for it to slip away minutes later. 

There were times Percival wanted to ask Credence what he thought of it all. Whether it offered him a freedom he never had before, or whether it felt restrictive. Possibly even humiliating. But whenever Percival got the notion, it seemed too forward to ask. Too inconsiderate. 

Grindelwald had told him he’d done it for a reason, to save Credence’s life, or his physical manifestation, but there were times Percival had to wonder. Times when Grindelwald’s hands lingered on the boy’s shoulders, kneading, pressing, rubbing too long. Times when he pulled Credence into his lap when they relaxed in the living room after supper. Times when his attention lingered on the boy’s face, and mouth especially, in the warm light of the room. 

The more this happened in Percival’s presence, the more Credence seemed to forget he was there. Grindelwald could place his hand around Credence’s thigh, gently rubbing, and in minutes Credence would appear intoxicated. Percival had half a mind to suspect it was a trick of legilimency, but he feared that it was not. 

In those times Credence forgot he was being watched, he opened up. Soft moans and steady breaths parted his lips. His hands clasped around the back of Grindelwald’s neck. His legs parted and he pressed himself closer in the man’s lap. Only with Grindelwald’s permission. 

Percival had caught the exchange before, at first unaware of what he was seeing. Credence would lean towards Grindelwald, eyes daring to meet his, and hold there as if frozen in space and time. Even breath seemed not to be necessary. And then, with a single touch, a press of fingertips against Credence’s back or hip or even shoulder, he would be released. Grindelwald would encourage him closer and Credence would fall in willingly. Percival would say almost…happily. 

It was those times he began to realise that Credence rarely asked for things with words. 

The more Percival saw Credence like this, the more difficult it became to remember the young man in the photos he’d kept. The ones from MACUSA’s file. He could recall penetrating eyes and an angled jawline, and a mouth just the same as Credence’s now, in the most striking photograph, but Credence’s other features had melted away into the boy Percival saw before him. 

He’d never gotten the chance to know Credence properly. Every time he curled up in Grindelwald’s arms, fingers playing with the ivory buttons of the man’s waistcoat or the carved ebony ones of his favourite smoking jacket, Percival regretted not knowing that face a little more. 

Credence was not too shy to sit beside him on the small couch in his room as they read. He was not shy to talk to Percival anymore. But the times that they touched were few and far between. He could not tell whether that was Credence’s doing or his own. The closest they came was on that couch, when Credence wanted to stretch his legs and spread out, his back comfortably pressed against Percival’s side. Or other times when Credence wasn’t totally awake yet. After Grindelwald had woken him up early, gotten him ready, and then left. Probably after a night of staying up much later than Percival had been aware within the sanctum of Grindelwald’s room. Credence would curl up by his side and rest his head against Percival, slow and sleepy. He was sure Credence only did this when he presumed Percival wouldn’t guess why he’d gotten so little sleep the night prior. 

Fortunately, the boy seemed to get enough most nights, and Percival didn’t have to think about it. 

Percival stopped trying to talk about it. In turn, Credence seemed to relax a little. He wasn’t sure what the boy thought of Grindelwald, whether Credence was just so used to being pressed underfoot that he thought he had no other choice, or whether being controlled was, in a strange way, comforting to him. 

One day, Percival experimented with the idea. He asked Credence to bring another book from the library, one he hadn’t gone through yet, but had been planning to. He asked Credence to open it up for him, and after they looked through the chapters, he picked one that sounded interesting, and asked Credence to read from it aloud. 

The boy hadn’t understood why Percival asked him to do this without telling him why, but he did as he was asked without question until they got to the end. He seemed perfectly comfortable to do as he was told without question until he closed the book and looked up at Percival, gaze inquisitive and nearly as penetrating as it had been in the photograph Percival was so fond of, but without any hint of unhappiness. 

Credence had asked him what he’d wanted to get out of the book, and Percival had given him some non-answer. Said he was merely curious. Something like that. But even then, Credence hadn’t been displeased. Hadn’t been frustrated at wasting time. 

Credence liked having Percival for a teacher. Liked having a teacher, rather. Percival wasn’t so sure that he was special, except for the fact that he liked having Credence as a student, which hopefully made him a good teacher. 

He found that he, too, wasn’t bothered by the lost time he spent studying with Credence. From that point on, he decided that it didn’t particularly matter whether Credence was inclined to being somewhat dependent on the guidance of others. So long as those he was dependent on cared well for him. 

And Percival was not so sure about Grindelwald. Not at all. 

The man could seem at home in any situation Percival had ever seen him in. He nurtured Credence’s affection for him in countless ways—little gifts he brought back with him, the occasional outing somewhere special, but Percival knew these places were no more special to normal wizards than the post office was to a no-maj. They were simply special to Credence because he had never seen such things as a wizarding candy shop, or a playground, or once, even a bank. Percival had his suspicions on why Grindelwald had taken Credence to the bank, and none of them were as innocent as the trip had seemed from the outside. 

Grindelwald won the boy’s affection simply by paying attention to him as though Credence were the most important person in the room, always. Percival had to admit that, for all intents and purposes, Credence _was_. Somehow, the boy mattered in Grindelwald’s greater schemes than Percival did himself. He was absolutely certain of it. Grindelwald wasn’t going to let him go. He probably wasn’t going to kill him either, Percival began to realise. Not without a good reason. If the newspapers were any indication of Grindelwald’s plans for him, he was meant to have defected. Joined the revolution. He could be certain that Grindelwald intended to use his face again for this purpose. Parade Percival in front of his followers, perhaps. “Inviting” him to rallies where he would sit and smile and nod, and no one would notice his hands were bound with Grindelwald’s magic. No one would notice he had joined against his will. 

All those theories would have worried him more if it hadn’t been for Credence. As such, it was the boy who most often occupied his mind. Credence’s safety mattered more than his own. That wasn’t him being altruistic. If Percival was merely going to be a pawn at best, a hostage at worst, then his role altogether was fairly inconsequential. Credence, on the other hand, Grindelwald seemed to have plans for. Real ones. 

That became clear the first day Grindelwald took Percival along on one of his excursions with Credence that wasn’t to the bridge. 

Percival had only been allowed outside once, and he’d been kept under guard thoroughly until they’d crossed through to the other side. Knowing there was only one way back, and that he would have to overpower Grindelwald to get to it, it had been a safe bet to take Percival along without incident. 

There were many ways Grindelwald could have assured Percival’s obedience when he took them out again. The Imperius curse certainly would have been the easiest, and Grindelwald had no qualms over using Unforgivables, but Percival did not find himself at the end of the man’s wand. 

Grindelwald merely collected him from his room one morning after breakfast with Credence, released him from the chains, but made sure the cuffs were still strong, and deemed that good enough with a curt nod. 

Percival had been bewildered until he caught Credence watching them from the threshold of the hallway, eyes wide and excited. Instantly, Percival knew he would be accompanying them wherever they were going. It was funny how Credence had managed to convey that with no more than a look. A message he’d not even meant to send Percival, and Percival had figured it out all the same. He found his heart beating fast with excitement, and looked between Grindelwald and the boy, both already dressed for the cold. 

“I’m to come with you, then?” he asked, carefully keeping his tone even. It didn’t occur to him to be worried until Grindelwald met his eyes. He’d taken Credence’s quiet interest and excitement as confidence in his safety, and he belatedly realised that maybe he shouldn’t have. 

Grindelwald stepped forward and placed a hand on Percival’s shoulder. His mouth turned upward. He squeezed gently. Reassuringly. “You are. Be a good boy for me, won’t you?” 

And then Grindelwald was cupping his cheek affectionately while Percival stiffened. He pulled away a second later. Too late. The indignation of the touch hadn’t hit him right away when it should have, and that twisted his gut. The fact that Grindelwald could still touch him and he didn’t think to recoil, even when the man did it so mockingly. The hesitation hadn’t even been for Credence’s sake, since Percival only just noticed how attentively the boy was watching their interaction. 

“Don’t touch me.” His words were a whisper. A hiss. 

Grindelwald merely shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. Not when they both knew he would do it again, and likely again after that. Grindelwald wasn’t shy about getting in other peoples’ spaces. Especially Percival’s. And apparently Credence’s. 

Percival swallowed and glanced down at the boy. When their eyes met, he did his best to put on a brave face. He nodded that he was alright, knowing that even though Credence didn’t often say anything about it, he didn’t want to see Percival distressed. 

Credence nodded back, just once, and then followed Grindelwald to the door while Percival was left to dress for the cold. 

Stepping outside was every bit as miserable as he remembered. Possibly worse. Percival had been inside for too long and he felt the biting chill at his nose and mouth the moment his shoes hit the snow covered walkway. It was well packed under the tread of many feet, none of them Percival, one of them Grindelwald, who passed through the apartment doors every day, and all the more slippery for it. Percival was careful as they walked, but noticed that Credence moved across it without difficulty. 

In photographs, Percival had always thought Credence had looked lanky and awkward in his own body whenever he moved—shoulders hunched, head down, stepping tentatively through crowds of single-minded New Yorkers, crowds who moved with a determination and confidence like no other city on earth. He looked like a young man who would have slipped on the thinnest patch of ice his path crossed. But now…. Credence still kept his head down, now that they were outside and there were other pedestrians on the opposite side of the street, but his little legs moved surely over the ice and snow beneath them. 

Credence kept close to Grindelwald’s side, and Grindelwald, in turn, kept Percival close to his other side. He needn’t use force to do so. The chains around Percival’s wrists drew him forward like a magnetic pull. Grindelwald never even glanced his way, but he expected Percival to keep up. And so Percival did. 

There was nowhere to go, even if he ran. 

They walked along the streets they’d taken before. Percival recognised the buildings and the businesses along the way when he couldn’t catch the street signs. He memorised everything that he could and didn’t care if Grindelwald knew what he was doing. The man couldn’t expect him to keep his head down and make himself the perfect prisoner. Grindelwald _could_ have forced such a thing, if he’d wanted to, and Percival knew it, but he didn’t care. He would take whatever small defiances he could get. He didn’t know if having a small map of Berlin in his mind would ever be useful to him, and at this point, neither did Grindelwald. It was a small, but satisfying, “fuck you” in his head.

After a while of walking like that, Grindelwald glanced his way with a smile so fond it threw Percival off kilter. The man said nothing, but his eyes danced with such mirth that he didn’t have to. 

After that, Percival didn’t stop his mental notes, but it was harder to believe the practise had any effect on Grindelwald whatsoever. And that took some of the steam out of his defiant enthusiasm. 

Credence, as usual, remained silent and small as they walked. It wasn’t until Grindelwald had cast the disillusionment charm over them all and the city was behind them that Credence finally stood straighter. Percival knew it was remarkable the boy stood that way at all in the presence of others, even if those others were himself and Grindelwald, but it still saddened him to see that Credence had felt so shy among the other city-dwellers. 

Without needing to be asked, Credence clasped Grindelwald’s hand. The man turned and laid his other over Percival’s shoulder, and an instant later they were standing in a deserted field. 

Percival did not stumble, even though the pull of apparition had been more sudden than he’d expected. To his surprise, Credence didn’t either. Grindelwald patted Credence’s shoulder and then released him, letting him take in his bearings. 

The city was nowhere in sight on the horizon, not that Percival could make it out at a distance of miles like he could with New York, but he could see no haze of smoke and coal marring the sky either. Not in any direction. There were was no sign of life apart from the call of a crow somewhere in the forest around them. The forest surrounded the field on all sides, in fact, with no roads anywhere Percival could see. Such was not completely uncommon to land owned by wizarding families, but usually he would have expected at least a footpath. 

As Grindelwald led them towards one side of the forest, the snow and stalks crunching underfoot, Percival began to understand that this was not any random field. 

In the distance what he’d thought were bales of hay were actually mounds thrown together with hay and mud and metal to form some kind of obstacle course, or perhaps targets, since a few of them were coloured with splotches of red or blue paint. 

This was an arena meant for some kind of practise, and Percival had a good idea what kind as he began to notice scorch marks upon the ground and the deep, frozen pits of dozens of footprints. Throughout the forest, several of the trees had been broken, their branches hanging at odd angles Percival wouldn’t have noticed until he began really looking. It was some kind of training ground. Something that Grindelwald had been using, and judging from the amount of footprints and damage done to the surroundings, there were a good many people involved. 

And none of them were there now. 

He didn’t know whether the field was now abandoned or whether the people Grindelwald had likely been training were scheduled to return, and it irked him that he could not tell where they were, and therefore could not use this information. Grindelwald had great power. They could have apparated a few miles outside the city, or to the other side of Germany. Percival had no way of knowing without a landmark. 

Grindelwald, meanwhile, ignored him until they reached the edge of the field, a good distance away from the nearest set of obstacles. “You’ll want to stay back,” he told Percival. Credence, meanwhile, stood seemingly unconcerned, inspecting the scenery around them with quiet, mild interest and looking unaffected by the cold. 

Percival glanced between Grindelwald and the boy while he began to suspect what they were there for. Obediently, he stepped off to the side, closer to the forest’s edge until there was a relatively safe distance between them. 

Grindelwald did not seem at all concerned for his own safety. He looked down at Credence and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair. It was a swift and gentle touch, before he released him and prodded him forward. Credence stepped away with a few short strides and then stopped. His head bowed and he stood as still as the wheat stalks around them. Credence looked like he intended to stand there so still and so silently that he might merge with the land and be forgotten. That he might become a part of the field itself, and once he accomplished this, Grindelwald would turn and leave him, collecting Percival as his prisoner along the way and not return again. 

Credence would be free, if he accomplished such a feat, Percival imagined. 

But that was not what Credence was thinking and not what happened. Instead of his short frame disappearing into the earth, familiar, wispy tendrils began to break apart from his form. Credence’s corporeal state became hallow, and then broke apart altogether, exploding silently into a writhing mass of sharp edges and inky black shapes. 

Percival sucked in a breath. He couldn’t stop the chill that ran down his spine at the sight of it. Credence was everything Grindelwald liked to say he was in this form—magnificent, awe inspiring…but Percival had not forgotten how deadly this form could be. And it looked every inch to be so. Percival couldn’t tell whether the heaviness in the air was something his mind conjured at the sight of such a force, unnatural and dark, or whether Credence’s sparking, churning, baleful magic seeped into the very atmosphere around him. Percival knew it was possible. Even without the obscurus freed completely, it had happened in the flat when Credence’s mood darkened. 

This time was not like what he had seen behind the bridge, however. The obscurus form was not quite as large as it was there, but it was still big enough to draw out Percival’s instinct to back away, pull his wand, defend himself however he could, even if his rational mind noted the way the mass was lifting lazily into the air in a largely nonthreatening manner, and it seemed to have no interest in him at all, much less attacking him. 

Grindelwald, however, was smiling up at the thing. He reached out a hand, holding it up in the air, and Credence—the obscurus—drifted closer, encircling his palm until Percival could no longer see it. Tendrils drew down Grindelwald’s arm, testing the strength of the heavy cloth covering it, and some, Percival was sure when he narrowed his eyes to look closely, slipping beneath the fabric altogether to run underneath it. Absurdly, he wondered if the obscurus’ touch was as cold as the air was, or whether it harboured any warmth at all. 

Grindelwald did not seem to mind. He held still and let the dark force inspect him. It drew a little closer, drifting through the air like water. Percival thought it miraculous to see it so calm, but then he remembered Tina’s stories of the one in the English wizard’s suitcase, encased in a bubble, drifting listlessly along. Percival wondered whether it lost its destructive will after being separated from its host at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the destructive will was not always required for the obscurus to be released. Credence had seemed calm and quiet when he’d stood alone in the field moments ago, but he had not seemed…happy. 

That realisation struck a chord in Percival. That the boy was likely drawing upon some other feeling of hopelessness, helplessness, something that would put him in a state to be able to draw the obscurus forth without actively setting it out to attack anyone. And now Grindelwald seemed to be soothing it with the offering of his arm. Reassuring it, perhaps. 

Percival wanted to step closer. He wanted to disregard Grindelwald’s order to stay back. He wanted to help reassure Credence that whatever feelings he’d drawn on to put him in this state could be soothed. The snow crunched under his first step, but just as he’d begun to draw closer, Grindelwald lowered his arm from the obscurus’ grasp and pulled something from his pocket. 

It was the pipe. Bone white and semi-transparent in the light that escaped the clouds above them, Grindelwald raised it to his mouth and laid his elegant fingers over it. 

As if anticipating the song, the obscurus rose into the air above them, drifting on a wind that wasn’t there. When Grindelwald began to play a soft melody, the cloud of tendrils began to sway in a lazy circle above them. 

This was much like the performance Percival had seen on the other side of the bridge. It made him wonder how often Grindelwald took Credence out here when they left together. How many times had Percival thought they were going into the wizarding district when Grindelwald was really getting the boy accustomed to drawing the obscurus out and drifting along to the songs he played? 

Percival had to admit, this was an improvement over the way he’d heard Credence’s transformations described to him before. Violent and unpredictable, he’d been a danger to any living thing around him, as well as any nearby architecture. This was…much more peaceful. 

As before, when Grindelwald picked up the tune, the obscurus began to soar. It rose above the treetops on the melody of the song, its tendrils turning from twisting, jagged motions to elegant, fluid ones as it weaved in and out of the currents. Percival couldn’t help himself, he stepped into the field, defying Grindelwald’s order to stay out of the way, but wanting to get a better view. 

He wondered if anyone had ever seen an obscurus this way before. It seemed inconceivable that something so dangerous, so rare and so dark, could move so elegantly. It seemed no more threatening than the clouds hanging high in the sky above them, just smaller and blackened. A little different, but nothing to be afraid of. Nothing that should ever have garnered the cruel words and abuses that created it in the first place. 

The obscurus now, riding along with the airy tunes of the pipe, seemed to rise above all that. 

Percival swallowed, a tightness forming in his chest that felt a little bit like hope. Credence deserved to float happily away from the pain he’d been put through. Freely. He deserved so much more than he’d been given, and from the way the blackened mass of him moved, it seemed he was getting a little taste of the peacefulness and serenity that he should have known all along. 

A shiver ran up Percival’s back glancing from Grindelwald to the cloud floating in a way he could only describe as merrily through the air. Percival had never expected Grindelwald to be the one to offer this kind of peace, nor any kind of peace, to the boy. It was hard to trust. Not with everything he knew about the man. Not when he remembered how Grindelwald was with Credence in human flesh, his touches and sweet words and patience with Credence…. Percival swallowed again, realising perhaps for the first time just how deeply Credence had fallen for the man. Because touches of affection and desire, kindnesses and warmth were things Credence had never been given before. And it was only Percival who thought them a manipulation. It was only Percival whose perception of Grindelwald was tainted with the knowledge of his workings in the world. Credence had been hurt by Grindelwald personally before, but he did not know or care about politics in a world he did not understand. Not when he’d never been allowed to live in that world, nor even in the no-maj one, really, in the first place. Not when he’d never had the kind of personal security that allowed people to care. 

All Credence wanted was to be loved. 

Grindelwald was giving him that, and in turn, Credence was opening up. More than opening up, he was beginning to flourish. To Percival’s knowledge, no wizard had ever had such control over an obscurus before. No obscurus had ever been able to find such…peace. Credence had imprinted on Grindelwald wearing his face. And then Credence had been betrayed, but…. As Percival watched, he began to realise that betrayal either hadn’t gone as deep as he’d expected, or it simply hadn’t broken the boy and his ability to trust again. Because somehow, Grindelwald had won him back. Somehow, not just with the pipe in his hands, Grindelwald had drawn Credence back to him. 

Percival wasn’t sure whether he could break that trust and make Credence understand just what Grindelwald was. Not even wearing the face the boy had first fallen for. Not even…as much as he felt for Credence. As much as he wanted the boy truly safe, truly able to have a better chance at life. Grindelwald had gotten to him first. 

Percival wanted to believe that would be a terrible thing. Shamefully, he realised he thought that would mean the end of Credence. That the boy would be torn apart and consumed by Grindelwald’s ambitions, used up and tossed aside in whatever plans Grindelwald had for him—and Percival could not say that wouldn’t, eventually, be the case—but he had not expected Grindelwald would help the boy grow like this. He had not expected any real progress, nor any real affection between them. 

It left him conflicted. He didn’t want to admit that Credence did seem happier than he’d ever been in photographs or Tina’s reports now, living in the flat with this man and himself, but if he were honest, Credence _did_ seem happier. He wasn’t always so shy anymore. Even in the weeks Percival had been there, he’d seemed to become more comfortable in his own skin. He could talk with Percival now about his studies when at first his opinions on their books had only rarely been stated. Percival had heard and seen him _laugh_ in Grindelwald’s arms. One of the most enchanting sounds he’d ever heard, if he were honest with himself, knowing how rare it was. 

He didn’t know whether he ever would have the chance to pull Credence out of this…dependency, but he began to realise that if that chance ever came, it would be much harder than he ever thought. 

The longer the song went on, as the clouds finally began to part and let real sunlight shine down on them, Credence’s circles grew wider. His path travelled the length of the field in swooping arcs, even dropping down and elongating the obscurus’ form like a wave to pass over the two men standing beneath him. 

It made Percival’s heart soar to watch. 

Daringly, he raised his arm up as Credence passed, hoping and trusting that the dark force would not hurt him as it had not hurt Grindelwald.

The obscurus swooped low, and for a split second Percival thought perhaps too low, thought he may be engulfed in its gently sweeping tendrils, but he was wrong. It glided just over his head, brushing along his arm so that it disappeared entirely within the mass. It was nothing at all like Percival had expected. The obscurus’ body felt…soft. Not at all oily or jagged as it could make itself look. It felt like a flurry of feathers running across his forearm as it passed, releasing him just as gently as it had enveloped him. 

When it was clear and climbing into the air again, Percival lowered his arm. Every hair was still in place. The skin was unmarred. There were no traces of dark magic anywhere to be seen, and no pain whatsoever. 

The obscurus had been so gentle. He was astounded. 

Without meaning to, he looked to Grindelwald for confirmation that this was normal and found the man’s eyes dancing merrily at him above the pipe he played. Percival was certain there was a smirk at the corner of his mouth before his attention turned back to the obscurus in the air. 

Grindelwald played that song for a long time. Its melody was one Percival couldn’t place, but once he started paying attention, it pulled at something deep in his chest in a way music rarely did since he was a child. That wasn’t to say he had no appreciation for the artistry of music. He kept an enchanted phonograph in his home in New York and listened often, varying between modern no-maj tunes and wizarding symphonies he’d first heard as a boy. How they’d enchanted him back then, when sound could draw forth emotion from him so easily, like nothing else quite could. Just a few, steady, building notes under currents of woodwinds and brass and the whistling winds drawn forth out of the very air that only wizarding music could produce. 

Grindelwald’s pipe was only a single instrument and yet Percival felt that same current, drawing forth a depth of feeling in his chest, a sound almost magical sending sparks through him every time the notes fluttered up or down. 

Percival didn’t realise how much it was affecting him until he realised his skin was prickling not only with goosebumps, but sparks of his own magic. It wasn’t dangerous. He didn’t have the sense that Grindelwald could force his magic to do anything against his will at the moment, especially with the cuffs, but the fact that he could draw it forth so easily was incredible. 

It must be what Credence was feeling. But on an entirely different level. 

Percival watched the boy skim the treetops above them, flying free, or as free as he had ever been able to. If not free of influence, then at least, for once, free of pain. 

Percival took a deep breath. It shook in his lungs. 

Just as he turned to Grindelwald, maybe to say something, or just consider that the man might not be all that he’d thought, at least in regards to Credence’s health, the song changed. It dipped sharply, and then a shrill note sprang up and out of it, carrying along on the wind like a cry through the forest. 

The obscurus reacted immediately. 

Percival caught a flash of black in the sky and then it was not where it had been before. His eyes widened, stunned that he’d lost it, until he spotted movement skimming along the treetops. Its body had flattened and it was speeding forward, darting around and through dense nests of bare branches like they were no obstacle at all. 

It was heading straight for them, Percival realised, his skin and magic still crawling with the sharp notes of the pipe. His whole body stiffened, instinctively noting that he would not have time to get out of its way on foot. There was no way he could outrun it, and though his first thought was to reach for apparition, the cuffs around his wrists bound him in place. He didn’t have time to marvel at how easily he’d forgotten them, nor that the power of Grindelwald’s pipe had been strong enough to draw sparks of that magic out even with it suppressed. He didn’t have time to do anything but raise his arms to shield his head as the obscurus dove. 

Percival heard a great crash of impact and then he was on the ground. Clumps of dirt and hay rained down upon him, some large enough to hurt. For a moment he thought he might be buried, but then it was over. He was laying a yard away from where he’d been before, and when he raised his arm and looked behind him, he realised the obscurus hadn’t been coming for him at all. 

Where one of the giant, pieced together obstacles of hay and metal had once been, only debris was left. It spanned a long arc away from the point of impact, flattened out into the field. 

Grindelwald’s song did not end, and Percival watched in dawning understanding, dawning horror, as the obscurus took out one obstacle after another, laying waste to each with ease. 

When it was finished, it dove into the very earth at the prompting of another stark flurry of notes, and Percival watched as the frozen ground was torn up, flung into the air, as the thing came speeding back towards them. 

Immediately, he went to Grindelwald’s side, knowing that was the safest place he could be just then, and watched as the ravaged earth sped past them and into the trees. Percival held his breath as a great crack split the air. He couldn’t see anything at first. It dove down somewhere deep and the dirt settled where it should be, but then one of the trees _jumped_. 

He couldn’t help stiffening in reaction. Not when he didn’t have any means of defending himself but for the marginal safety of Grindelwald and the pipe he played. 

Roots sprung out of the ground as the tree lifted higher, and then all at once it sank again into the loosened dirt below it, but it had no stability anymore, and toppled to the ground. The obscurus had already moved on, and Percival watched tree after tree fall in succession. 

It was not difficult, now, to imagine how bad the damage to New York had been. Percival was sure this still wasn’t Credence at his strongest, but the boy—the obscurus—could lay the whole forest flat within minutes if he kept going. 

Finally, Grindelwald slowed the song into a single, measured note, and then lowered the pipe. 

Silence reigned through the field. Even the birds had quieted. Percival couldn’t see where the obscurus had gone, and that set him on edge. A multitude of questions ran through his mind, but he didn’t have the time or the allowance for distraction to ask any of them. Had Grindelwald done this before? Would the obscurus, or Credence, whichever was in control now that the pipe was lowered, be angry at having been used as a makeshift weapon? Was it about to come for them? It had been fast, so fast, and Grindelwald may not even have time to raise the pipe to his lips. Was that why he’d brought Percival here, as bait? 

The heavy weight of a hand laid over his shoulder and Percival nearly jumped out of his skin. He caught himself just in time, realising who had grabbed him while at the same time Grindelwald held tight and locked his other arm around Percival’s torso to keep him firmly in place. The man laughed just soft enough not to break the silence blanketing the field, but enough to let Percival know just what Grindelwald thought of his fears. 

“No harm will come to you out here. I promise,” Grindelwald chuckled into his ear and Percival felt half a fool and half ready to tear himself away in indignation. He had every right to be worried. The obscurus was a tumultuous bundle of raw emotion, and although Credence may have liked him well enough when the boy was calm and they were in each other’s company, he was very aware of what that boy must be bottling up on a daily basis, living with Grindelwald and himself. 

But Grindelwald’s surety answered some of his questions all by itself. 

“You’ve done this before, then?” he shot back. “You’re already training him, aren’t you?” 

Grindelwald’s hold on him tightened and the man hummed an affirmative in his ear, one that sounded a little too much like Grindelwald was enjoying the position they were in, having Percival tight against his chest like they were. The pipe rested in Grindelwald’s fist just above Percival’s heart. It was strange to see that close. He could make out intricate designs along its surface that weren’t otherwise noticeable, but Grindelwald wasn’t paying it any attention for the moment. He was pressing his cold nose against Percival’s ear and nuzzling there, soft laughter still reverberating through his frame. Percival couldn’t tell whether Grindelwald was high on the amount of destruction the obscurus had wrought, or whether it was the opportunity of having Percival in his arms again. 

And Percival still didn’t know where the obscurus was. Anxiety trickled back into his stomach. 

“Do you really want him to see us like this?” Percival hissed, thinking of the picture they would make to an unstable, destructive force that was Credence right then. But he only felt Grindelwald’s mouth widen into a smile against his earlobe. 

“And you think he would mind?” Grindelwald shifted his stance to get a little more comfortable. His grip loosened just enough to allow for a real embrace, even if it was still strong enough to be restrictive should Percival try to pull away. “I think we make a perfectly appealing sight together, just like this. If anything, he would probably be fascinated.” 

Percival didn’t want to find out, but he didn’t have time to argue, either. Just as he turned his head to get his ear away from Grindelwald’s warm breath, he spotted movement at the edge of the forest and went still. 

A lone, diminutive figure was walking towards them. His steps were slow, but steady, and he didn’t appear tired or hurt or otherwise distressed in any way. The closer Credence came without reverting back to the obscurus form, the more Percival began to relax. 

The boy’s eyes were wide with interest as he approached them, but it didn’t appear that he was upset to see Grindelwald with his arms around Percival. Percival hoped that would be the case even if he did revert back to his obscurus form, but he was still a little wary of it. 

Grindelwald clapped a hand against Percival’s upper arm and squeezed him tight. “Look at how well our boy has done.” He spoke loud enough for Credence to hear and didn’t appear anxious in the least. 

He must have been onto something, because, much to Percival’s surprise, the smallest smile graced Credence’s mouth. 

Grindelwald released Percival and went to the boy, reaching down and sweeping him up in his arms in a whirl of heavy fabric and a light giggle from Credence. His legs wrapped around Grindelwald’s waist and his arms went around the man’s shoulders. A rosy blush spread across his cheeks as Grindelwald leaned in and pressed kisses and praise upon his them. 

Just when Percival thought they would be wrapped up in the moment with one another, Credence’s eyes caught his own over Grindelwald’s shoulder. He had no idea what expression was upon his face, bug fought to school it back into some semblance of neutrality. He wasn’t sure that it worked. 

Their gaze held and then Credence ducked down. It was long enough for Grindelwald to notice and remember Percival’s presence. He turned, grinning, a hand running over Credence’s back. “Wasn’t he magnificent, Percy? Surely even you can’t deny that.”

Credence glanced at Percival again. 

Grindelwald was right. Percival held out his hands. “There’s nothing to deny. He was. You _were_ , Credence.” He would have hated himself for giving any other answer, even if it was the one Grindelwald wanted from him. It was for Credence. 

That little smile returned to the boy’s mouth in gratitude. It was so unusual for it to be directed at Percival that for a moment, he thought he might be the more flustered of them both, no matter that he was standing in the middle of a frozen, decimated field, being held prisoner and all. 

But then there was Grindelwald with that knowing glint in his eye, grinning at the both of them either in appreciation of the praise between them or of the obscurus’ successful attack. It was hard to say. But it also didn’t matter. 

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Credence offered, his small voice carrying along the breeze, while Grindelwald brought the pipe to his lips again. 

For a moment, Percival felt a lick of fear that he was about to draw the obscurus out again, but no such thing happened. He played what he could of a jaunty tune with one hand, and even though it was a little mangled, it settled a warm feeling inside Percival’s stomach. 

It seemed to have the same effect on Credence, who kept his hold around Grindelwald’s neck tight while the man took them on a twirling dance through the fallen stalks of wheat and debris. 

Percival watched with warmth in his chest and a deep, cloying uncertainty in the pit of his stomach. Such a contrast to the scene he’d bore witness to only minutes ago, now the atmosphere was light and almost merry. The disjointed melody and Grindelwald’s laughter rose into the air, the only sound in the silent clearing. 

Percival could see him dancing over fields of blood and broken bodies with Credence in his arms, all to the tune of that pipe.

* * *

When they returned to the apartment, Percival was numb with cold at his extremities, unnatural warmth in his chest, and a heavy heart threatening to claw its way back to the surface. 

Credence had again stayed close to Grindelwald’s side and kept away from other pedestrians in the city, but this time he darted between Grindelwald and Percival as they walked, and Percival dared to take his other hand. Credence hadn’t looked up, but his mitten slid into Percival’s gloved fingers without hesitation. Like it was, somehow, something expected, and together the three of them carried on like that, a strange and steady silence between them the whole way home. 

Grindelwald kissed Credence’s cheek and helped the boy remove his outer clothing before he left for his study. Percival was therefore allowed to spend the rest of the day free of his room. He and Credence took up residence in the living room, starting a fire the muggle way and enjoying its warmth. 

Percival talked with the boy in low, smooth tones that Grindelwald still overheard as he moved down the hallway away from them. Steadily, the murmur of their voices faded into the presence of the same thoughts in their minds, and Grindelwald was content with that. Their conversation was not deep. Percival touched lightly on what it was like for Credence to turn into the obscurus, but did not delve further. 

It was easy to let them be. Especially when Gellert had other matters to attend to. 

He entered his study, but left the door open and welcoming should Percival or Credence need to find him for anything. The elegant lamps lit up on the wall one by one as he sat down to write a letter, finding quill and ink recently replenished. He’d been writing more correspondence than usual lately. So much so that he’d had to send Gwendoline out for supplies. It was funny, for all the immeasurable magic he sought and found, it was little things like running out of ink that interrupted him and reminded him not to forget about the mundane. With that thought in mind, he picked up the day’s muggle newspaper and set it to the side to read later before pulling out a sheet of parchment. 

_”Dear Thaddeus,”_ it began. 

Gellert had told him this letter would come. Arrabella had secured her place as Chief of Communications, and their inner circle was growing steadily. Not too much, Gellert needed his highest ranking officers exactly where he wanted them, with no further reach than that. Just enough power for each to perform as a cog in the machine of his ambitions that this new structure of hierarchy could achieve. 

Thaddeus had proved successful at every task he’d been given, not just in training their militia forces, but working with the others and providing a sense of morale when Gellert was not there himself. Since Gellert had asked him to pass on Arrabbella’s letter, he had not asked about one of his own, nor had he asked why she was no longer directly present in the Berlin chapter meetings. He had resolved to respect Gellert’s decision when it came. If it came. Those traits in one man did not surface often. 

Thaddeus’ formal invitation to the inner circle would set their militia into place, each faction ready and waiting for the opportunity to unite under Grindelwald’s army. Their army. The Rise of Magic.

Gellert sealed the letter and bound it with his will imbued into several privacy spells, then tucked it away with the rest he needed to send off later. He did not trust his correspondence to owls, but there were other avenues available to him. The muggle newspaper caught his eye as he rose and he turned it around, reading the headlines. Something about a conference held at the university by a muggle physician, to pursue changes in the legal system governing the men and women of Germany. Intrigued, he picked up the paper and perused it as he headed back to the living room, catching bits of conversation between Credence and Percival in between the lines he read. 

It was a strange, anticipatory kind of contentment Gellert found these days. With Credence at his side, growing stronger and more secure every day, little by little, and the efforts of the revolution building ever faster, his work was not something that would be accomplished in a year’s time. Likely not even a decade’s. Still he yearned for progress just as much as when he’d first begun. 

On this course, he knew, Wizarding kind would take the ground they needed, no matter what.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I am awful at responding to comments, but thank you so much for leaving them anyway. Also I've added some more art featuring scenes from DB to the Works inspired by this one section at the end of the fic. Enjoy.

After a quiet dinner that evening, Credence was leaning against the table in a rare disregard for manners. His eyelids had been drifting lower and lower for most of the meal, but he hadn’t complained. He hadn’t even mentioned that he was tired at all. The poor boy seemed to be fighting it, in fact. 

Gellert reached over and massaged the back of his neck, smiling fondly as Credence’s eyes slid shut and he leaned into the touch. “You should get some rest. You deserve it, after all, for doing so well today. You’ll need your strength back for tomorrow.” His words were soft and affectionate, and Credence’s heart warmed to hear them. Gellert felt the boy melt into his hand that much more. But Credence didn’t want to show any sign of weakness either. 

“I can stay up still. ‘M ok…,” Credence tried valiantly, but the boy’s eyes remained closed and he did not pull away. 

Gellert gave a soft laugh and rose from his seat, scooping Credence up in his arms and letting the boy slump against his shoulder while Percival looked on. “I think you’re trying to deceive me, my boy. And we both know you won’t get away with it.” 

Gellert nuzzled into Credence’s neck and made the boy laugh and squirm. Weeks ago, teasing words like that might have made Credence’s heart drop and his body tense, but now he only wrapped his arms around Gellert’s neck and enjoyed it for what it was. That didn’t stop his heart from racing though. Gellert could feel it pressed against his chest like that. 

“C’mon. I’ll take you to bed. Say goodnight.” Gellert turned so that Percival could see Credence, his head still drooping on Gellert’s shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Graves,” Credence said obediently. It was something Gellert encouraged every night they were up together. Credence may be bold on occasion, and had little trouble speaking to Percival when they were alone together, but the boy still felt a little shy when it was the three of them and he addressed Percival specifically. 

Percival still sat at the table, his meal finished, but in no hurry to leave. He lowered his head, but did not break his gaze away. “Goodnight, Credence. Sleep well.” 

Gellert caught the sincerity in his tone and he cast Percival a look of fondness for it, but Percival still refused to meet his eyes. Instead, the man busied himself with his napkin, and then finally rose from the table. In his effort to avoid Gellert’s gaze, he even helped Gwendoline take away the dishes. By hand. 

Gellert shook his head and left the dining room where sounds of the little elf’s protests faded behind them. 

Credence, however, was too tired to care. Letting the obscurus out today had exhausted him early, but he’d been awake and alert for most of the day thereafter, and Gellert knew that was a good sign. His strength was growing. But Credence was about to fall asleep on his shoulder if they didn’t get to bed soon, and wasn’t that just amusing. 

Gellert took Credence to his room and laid him down in bed, removing his outer garments piece by piece and setting them aside. Credence made an effort to help only by wiggling out of them as Gellert pulled, laying on the bed and flopping about, letting himself be turned this way and that until he was left in his shirt and pants. 

It was…surprisingly arousing. How pliable Credence was like this, how he pressed his cheek into the blankets and rubbed it there sleepily and let Gellert take care of the rest. 

Gellert slipped off his shoes and climbed up with him, settling over Credence and placing a kiss to his cheek while the boy’s eyes fluttered shut. When Gellert lowered himself down, settling behind Credence and wrapping the boy up in his arms, Credence sighed softly. He could surely feel Gellert’s interest pressed against his behind, but he only smiled and burrowed deeper. 

“How sweet you are like this,” Gellert whispered into his ear. “No one would ever imagine the things you are capable of.” Nor the thoughts and emotions that resided in Credence and fuelled those abilities. 

“Mmm,” was all Credence said in return, and then shifted back against Gellert so pleasantly that he surely had to know what he was doing. 

Gellert would have announced the intention to tease him, but one look into Credence’s mind told him that the boy really was just that tired. Credence liked the feel of Gellert against his back and the hard length of his arousal between them, it made him feel safe and wanted, but he had no intention to do anything more just then. 

Gellert sighed. “I should let you sleep,” he whispered into Credence’s ear. Temptation welled inside him to pursue more, but he knew well that it was in his own best interests to let Credence rest. 

“Stay with me?” Credence mumbled. It was early still. He knew Gellert wasn’t about to go to bed just yet, but Credence hoped that he would stay just a little longer. 

“Of course.” Fondness welled within Gellert’s chest. He traced the soft skin of Credence’s cheek with his fingertips, down to the plush pad of his lip. He drew the touch over Credence’s earlobe, and then down his neck and collarbone. “You’ll sleep soundly tonight.”

Credence blinked up at him, tiredness slowing the motion. Credence always slept soundly now. Gellert thought he might have nightmares, either from the destruction in New York or from his former mother. The latter had happened on occasion, granted, but Credence didn’t do more than twitch in discomfort until they passed. The dreams were not common. As for New York, Gellert had not been able to detect much guilt in Credence’s mind. Only curiosity, over what kind of magic lay dormant within him and what he could do. 

That made Gellert’s heart warm and the anticipation inside him grow. He knew Credence knew right from wrong, and knew he’d hurt people and that was bad, but he also knew the boy didn’t often _feel_ it. That was not to say Credence could not feel at all, as was clear the more Gellert endeared himself to the boy. 

Gellert leaned in and pressed a kiss between Credence’s brows. His eyes closed and his mind began to quiet. Gellert brought the blankets up over Credence’s small form, reluctant to put anything between them when he was still half aroused, but Credence would be out soon, and this would help. Credence snuggled in, pulling the blankets up to his chin and curling into Gellert’s warmth. 

Gellert had many plans for tomorrow, and for the rest of the coming weeks, but he could not deny that these nights with Credence were becoming…well, more than pleasant. 

Credence sighed and clutched at Gellert’s shirt. His breathing began to even out, and Gellert felt it as his mind slowly slipped into slumber. 

He stayed with Credence for a few minutes after. It was hard not to enjoy resting with the boy, how warm his little body, swaddled in blankets, felt. Not in a way that demanded more, at least not for the moment. Just pleasant. Just like this. 

Eventually, however, Gellert had to extract himself from Credence’s loose grip, make sure that he was tucked in soundly, and leave him for the rest of the evening. Gellert closed the door behind himself as he left. 

Percival was no longer in the dining room where Gellert had left him, and the table was now cleared and spotless. Gellert let out a soft sigh. Having Percival manage like a muggle was a strange and unfortunate circumstance of their relationship. He did not particularly like seeing the man carrying dishes by hand, knowing that it was because he had no other option, not with the shackles round his wrists. But Gellert didn’t have many other options either. 

When he came around the corner to the living room, he found Percival seated upon the sofa, leaning back with legs crossed at the ankle and reading a newspaper, the very picture of leisure. It was an illusion, of course. Part of it. Percival was at least relaxed at the moment, but not the carefree sort he might prefer. 

“Shall I play my pipe for you, Percy?” Gellert asked, leaning against the wall. He could not help goading the man. Even when he didn’t truly mean to taunt him. 

“And put me under whatever spell you used on Credence?” Percival turned a page. 

Gellert rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall. “ _Now_ you’re going to deny what you saw, aren’t you?” He went to sit upon the couch beside Percival, and Percival did not indicate his annoyance outwardly, nor did he get up. “It calms him. It is not the imperius curse. Or would you rather have an unfocused, unstable obscurus tearing apart the countryside?”

Percival glanced up. His dark eyes were even darker in the lamplight, and he sat very still. “I would rather he not have to live with the obscurus at all.” 

Gellert’s expression fell, suddenly becoming quite serious. “So would I.”

Silence stretched between them, but, much to Percival’s distaste, Gellert’s statement sounded true. It was curious, to read as much from the man’s thoughts. It was always curious to see people who so obviously didn’t believe in him to hear a note of truth in his words.

“I wish you would stop fooling yourself, Percy,” Gellert said, quietly this time. The words were not taunting, not even teasing. For once, they were not meant to provoke. 

Percival glanced down to the newspaper and then back up again. “I am not like you.” There was a note of attempted finality in his voice. 

Gellert shook his head. “You will never _be_ me, Percy, we both know that much already. But would you be this offended to know we both have a fondness for dark chocolate and roman nougat? Why are you so unwilling to admit that we share a similar fondness for young boys such as the one in the room next door? Or that I am also capable of caring for him as you do? Is it simply your need to see me as the criminal villain the magical ministries paint me as?”

Percival was silent. 

The longer the silence stretched, the more Gellert grew restless. He tossed his head back. “Oh _please_. Did you think he was better off with his mother, the woman who put him in an environment that twisted and suffocated his magic? Or relying on MACUSA to change their minds and have pity on him in the end? Nevermind that they left him alone, undiscovered fro two decades and then opted for a swift execution as soon as he was deemed a threat.” Gellert went from sitting back to leaning towards Percival, imploring him for once out of desperation as much as frustration. Desperation for him to see. 

“And what _exactly_ are you going to do with him, in the end, _Gellert_?” Percival shot back, laying the newspaper down on his knees. “You intend to use him as a weapon. For your own damn agenda, just like everybody else in his life ever did.” 

Gellert was simply so stunned at Percival’s use of his first name that it took him a moment to respond. It had the strange effect of diminishing some of his frustration. 

He closed his mouth. “Yes, I do intend to use him. But not only for my own agenda, for _ours_. And that does not mean I do not care for the boy.” Gellert felt his eyes harden. “He has grown on me quite well. I’d dare say that I care more than anyone in his life ever has before.” 

“That’s not saying much,” Percival muttered. 

“But it is saying _something_.” Gellert scooted closer, one arm over the back of the couch, eyes intent on the former Director. “I can see you care for him as well.” 

Percival glared back, just as Gellert knew he would. It put a smile on his face again. 

“And I know how you feel about me. All of it. The good and the bad.” Gellert was very close now. He couldn’t help but recall that he’d been aroused not so long ago, lying in bed with Credence, and now dear Percival was trying very hard not to let Gellert’s words spark his imagination. “That, at least, is no secret between us.” Gellert closed his eyes and sighed softly. “You wouldn’t believe how freeing it is just to be _open_ with someone. Honesty really is the best policy, with those who would understand. And I would understand, Percy. You know I would.”

“You think I can feel ‘free’, as your prisoner here, if I only tell you my heart’s deepest desires?” Percival fluttered his hands to make a point. “You’re a lot more sentimental than I thought.” 

Gellert nearly cast his eyes to the ceiling. “And have I treated you like a prisoner? Do you remember what you expected from me your first nights here? Because I do, very distinctly. You had no idea whether you would even _survive_. Nevermind my treatment of you in New York, without chains. I could be a _lot_ worse, Percy. Believe me.” 

Percival’s dark eyes flashed. He thought he was being manipulated, thought he was being asked to accept imprisonment and be thankful that it was not worse. There was truth to that, but that wasn’t what Gellert intended. 

“Why do you think that is?” Gellert refused to pull back and give Percival the space he so clearly wanted. “Why do you think I would go through all this trouble for you? Keeping you not only well fed and healthy, but with me and the most valuable assets I have to my name, letting you see all that I can do from the inside, when I could just as easily throw you into a dungeon to be forgotten or kill you myself?” 

“If you’re about to say it’s because you’re just that fond of me…” Percival shook his head, agitation mounting in his tone. 

Gellert smiled. “No. Well, not _only_ that.” Gellert raised his hand, ready to be pushed away at any moment, but his fingers made contact with Percival’s collar without interruption. They smoothed over the fabric, laying it down neat and crisp, although it had not been out of place before. “You were a pleasure to have around in New York, but I would never have considered keeping you like this if I hadn’t recognised a certain…something, about you. I had planned to halt your personal vendetta against me, certainly, but then I noticed something rather interesting. Something the two of us have in common.” 

Gellert’s fingers walked up Percival’s shoulder and he leaned in, a gesture of the seduction Percival would expect from him, but he went for the man’s ear.

“Your _fondness_ for that boy…is nearly as strong as my own.” 

Percival did not move, not even when Gellert’s lips grazed his earlobe. He seemed only to be focused on his breathing. “Shouldn’t that make me your enemy?” he asked in return, a whisper back. 

“Only if I didn’t like you.” Gellert smiled and sat back again, but he did not move away. “You keep thinking we should be enemies, but I think we would make far better friends. I’d like to convince you of that someday.” 

Percival shook his head. He looked tired. He looked confused. He looked like a man nearing the end of his rope, but didn’t want to show it, or believe it. There was nothing Percival could do about his situation now, and they both knew it. If help ever did come for him, by accident more likely than by design now, it would not be soon. 

“I don’t know why you like me.” Percival removed his eyes from Gellert’s. He dropped the newspaper on his knees. There were a dozen questions buzzing around in his head and a dozen speculations, half formed plans and predictions—Gellert could feel them all. But none were solid. All were “if’s”. 

Gellert leaned back against the couch, pressed against Percival’s shoulder, but he didn’t move any farther into the man’s space again. This was comfortable. For him, more so than Percy, but…after a minute, Gellert felt Percival’s mind relax and begin to appreciate the warmth Gellert’s body provided next to him. 

“That may be _why_ I like you.” Gellert met Percival’s glance out of the corner of his eye, and smirked. Percival’s immediate annoyance was a warm delight in his chest. 

But Percival didn’t act on it. He just sighed and picked up the newspaper again. “You’ve read this already, haven’t you?” he asked idly, flipping it back open and paging through it. It was one of the few English papers in the city, for Percival could not read the German ones Gellert collected daily. 

Gellert often skimmed them and then tossed them aside for Gwendoline to take care of later, or for Percival to peruse. Credence had little interest. 

Gellert looked over. “Mm, the interesting bits.” 

“Does that mean you?” Percival lifted up a section with an op-ed professing support for Grindelwald and his ideas, while on the opposite page an article speculated everything from his whereabouts to how many real supporters he had across the country and surrounding regions. 

It was always difficult for them to tell. 

“Usually, yes.” Gellert’s smile this time was less fond. But the papers were following along, just like he wanted them to, all in all. “I’ve upset enough ministries and governments to be forced into hiding, but they cannot silence my supporters. And the speculation does not stop. These papers are doing half the work for me.” 

“Even if there are a landslide of articles and opinion pieces against you?” Percival raised a brow in challenge. 

That alone made Gellert’s smile widen. “Times are still changing. O ye of little faith.” 

Percival’s brows knit together, his mind whirring. “Did you just quote a no-maj?” Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the reference surfaced, but Percival could not place it. 

It was a delight to watch him flounder, but also to see him notice in the first place. “Yes. The last thing I want to be is ignorant of their culture. You, on the other hand, have no such excuse for recognising a quote from the very bible of their most prolific religion. Was your methods as Director more in the style of ‘do as I say, not as I do’? Or did Credence tell you that one?” 

Percival’s mouth turned down, but there was only mild irritation behind it. “There is no way to be ignorant of no-maj society and Director of Magical Security at the same time. It’s a requirement. And the Second Salemers, well, I looked into their organisation only routinely, long before Tina ever did. But we were aware of them. I must have picked it up there.” 

There was a tightness around Percival’s eyes now. His thoughts had turned to the file he’d been given after his captivity, and the pages upon pages of notes and photographs he’d poured over. Credence, as always, stood out like a beacon on every page with his image or the very text of his name. 

“But you never saw him, did you?” Gellert asked softly. 

“No.” Percival sighed. “If I did, I wasn’t aware of him. You already know this. It was Tina who noticed him, discovered how his mother treated those kids.” 

“Discovered what she did to him….” Gellert lifted his fingers to the back of Percival’s neck. 

Percival flinched. Gellert pulled his hand away.

“You think you’re so much better?” Percival asked. It was only a soft hiss of breath. 

Gellert’s composure did not crack. “Yes, Percy.” He lifted his chin. “I do.” 

Gellert squeezed Percival’s shoulder and then rose. He looked down at his guest, captive, whatever Percival preferred to think of himself at the moment, and then left him to his newspaper. 

Gellert spent the rest of the night in his study before taking Percival back to his chains and then returning to join Credence in bed.

* * *

As the days passed, Percival’s attention lingered on Credence and his interactions with Gellert more than ever. 

Not that Percival hadn’t fixated on them previously, and for good reason—they were the only other two people residing in the flat, but there was a subtle difference to it. His eyes lingered longer than they usually did on Gellert’s arms around Credence, or the boy’s slim figure as he moved through the halls, or the way Credence grew restless when they sat together in the evenings. Gellert noticed. And Percival began to as well. He could not push away those thoughts before Gellert got to them any longer, even though he still resisted letting them mean anything out loud.

Merely that much acknowledgement had been a long time coming, and Gellert was not about to let it go to waste. 

One night, he came home late and found the flat silent with the lights out except for his own bedroom and Percival’s. Credence must have turned in for the night, and so had Percival although both of their doors were still open, and when Gellert hung up his coat and went down the hall, he found that Percival had stayed up in bed, reading. 

Percival did no more than glance up at him when he stopped by the door, then turned back to his book. He was growing used to their routine, it appeared. 

A niggling idea began to prod at the back of Gellert’s mind as he looked over the other man. With a wave of his hand, the chains dropped from Percival’s shackles, just as Gellert did for him every evening when he came home and before they went to bed. 

“Stretch your legs before you turn in for the night, hm?” Gellert suggested and then yawned. 

He left Percival there to do as he pleased and headed for his own room where Credence was no doubt waiting. He’d seen Gellert pass, but waited politely for him to come inside. Gellert found him in bed as well, with his own book to read although it looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep more than he was actually reading it. 

Gellert smiled at him from the doorway. “You stayed up for me.” 

Credence blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “Of course.” He stretched his legs out under the covers and sat up, looking tired but steadily more awake as the minutes passed. 

Credence had only ever fallen asleep a few times before Gellert returned home from his daily appointments, and it was often only the days after he’d tired himself out when Gellert took him to train. He was very diligent about waiting up for Gellert, considering it only polite, he said, but Gellert could sense it was more than just that. Credence felt a certain comfort going to sleep and knowing that Gellert was there. It resounded deep in the boy’s mind every night when he was wrapped up in Gellert’s arms, and even louder on the nights he came home late and Credence had been up worried he might not come back at all. 

“Have you eaten?” Gellert stepped inside and began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat while Credence watched. He went to the dresser and undid his tie with a little wandless magic, letting it unwind and slip from his neck while he shrugged out of the vest. 

Credence liked watching him dress, and undress. “Yes. Earlier, with Mr. Graves. Gwendoline made us dinner.” 

That would have been around the time they knew Gellert was going to be late. “Very good, very good….” He slipped off his cuff links next, and unbuttoned his shirt. 

From the hall, there came the faintest creak, and Gellert caught a glimpse of Percival passing to the bathroom. The man kept his eyes averted and did not glance into their room, even though it was clear that Gellert and Credence were perfectly decent. 

With another stroke of magic, Gellert closed the door. 

When Credence looked to him again, he smiled. He let it settle onto his face warmly at first, and then curl into something that hinted at intent. “How tired are you?” Gellert strode up to the foot of the bed and then climbed up onto it, eyes on Credence. 

Credence’s feet curled away from him, but the boy was smiling back with his chin tucked down to his chest and shoulders up. Gellert knew he could kiss away that remaining shyness. He crawled up the bed. 

“I think I’m awake.” Credence let Gellert get close, waiting for him with his feet tucked under himself and the covers pushed aside. His thoughts weren’t on the day, weren’t on Gellert’s work nor his training, nor even on their guest on the other side of the door. Gellert consumed the whole of his attention now, and there was a familiar stirring of interest in Credence’s belly just for him. 

“Good.” Gellert crawled up until he was essentially in Credence’s lap, elbows planted on either side of the boy, and close enough to tease him with a kiss. 

Credence made a happy sound when Gellert caught his mouth, partly enjoying the kiss and partly tickled by his moustache. Gellert laid down right where he was, not looming over Credence, just teasing him with little kisses and letting the boy squirm under him. Credence loved moments like that, where the desire inside him was growing, but he was offered only a little at a time. Something about it was comforting until he couldn’t stand it and wanted more. 

Gellert knew it had to do with his ingrained restraint. Once Credence had been teased and touched enough, all his shyness fell away. It was a challenge Gellert enjoyed. It was impossible not to love it, coaxing Credence to open to him with his hands on such soft, tender skin. 

“Do you remember the first time I touched you?” Gellert asked, moving to the boy’s earlobe and kissing up its shell. 

Dazedly, Credence’s brows drew together. “When I tried to hurt you…?” Confusion sprung up in his mind, thinking back to the morning he’d drawn a letter opener on Gellert in bed and then discovered the tables turned on him quickly, and how much that had aroused Gellert. 

Gellert laughed. “No, earlier than that. The first time I pulled you in close. The first time you leaned on me and I touched your face, your neck, held you to my chest and told you that I didn’t want you to hurt anymore. You liked those touches. More than the context called for; I know you did.” 

Credence hadn’t thought about that in a while. He’d been actively not thinking about it, and Gellert knew it. It was just easier altogether that Credence didn’t, knowing most of it had been a lie because Gellert had thought he was someone else. Had thought there was no hope for him because he wasn’t a wizard, or just one who could perform no magic. And that still stung, if he let it. Because even if Credence could perform some twisted version of it in this world, and knew he could in the other world, he wasn’t sure if he would ever stop feeling like it wasn’t really a part of him. Not the kinds of magic Gellert and the other wizards could do. 

“I remember,” Credence said quietly, not knowing why Gellert was bringing this up now. Things were better now. Much better, and Credence didn’t want to go back there. 

Gellert pressed a kiss to Credence’s temple and stroked his hair. “It’s alright. I only want you to remember the way you felt for me then, nothing more than that. Only the good. The way you hoped you would have something with a man you could only dream of, or had never _dared_ dream of before the offer was given to you. Do you remember that feeling?” 

Credence closed his mouth and nodded. That was easier, to think back to when Gellert had called himself Mr. Graves and had told Credence he could take him away from all that he hated, could give him a new life in a place of magic and freedom, and the unspoken offer that came with it. The offer that Gellert had made with the stroke of his hands over Credence’s wounded flesh, and didn’t stop once it was healed. Credence had wanted him so much. Wanted him more than anything he had ever wanted before. 

It was easier if he thought about where he was now, that Gellert was still with him, and had ended up making good on that promise after all. 

Gellert pulled back enough just to smile at him and share a moment to let Credence look into his eyes. To let the weight of everything else fall away because they were here now, and it had worked out in the end. 

“You liked your Mr. Graves quite a lot then, didn’t you?” Gellert’s smile twisted up at the corners. 

Immediately, Credence averted his eyes and flushed. He had not expected that from Gellert. He hadn’t even been thinking about Mr. Graves, not as the real Mr. Graves, just his face, the same man Gellert had been. 

“No, no, no, it’s alright. Come now, I keep telling you this. You don’t have to be shy about it.” Gellert’s tone was playfully teasing and it only made Credence flush deeper. 

“I know. I just. I wasn’t thinking about that right now,” Credence protested. 

“Would you like to?” Gellert asked. 

When Credence looked back up, he found another face staring back at him and nearly startled at the sight of Mr. Graves so close. Gellert raised a dark brow and Credence froze, not knowing what to make of this. Gellert had teased him about this before, in a good way, although it had taken some work for him to realise there was no malicious intent behind it. 

“I… I don’t know.” Credence wasn’t certain. Now that he was thinking back on how much he’d wanted Gellert when he’d had this face, it was difficult to forget. Minutes ago, Credence would have been startled to see Gellert melt into Mr. Graves. 

“I don’t think you have anything to feel self-conscious about.” Gellert raised a hand to stroke through Credence’s hair again, just like he did so often, and it was a strange flashback to the way he used to do it in those alleyways and the way he still did it now. “You can indulge in this fantasy with me, you know, since our present Mr. Graves is too shy to do anything about it at the moment.” 

“I….” Credence looked down to where Gellert’s fingers were trailing at his chest. One by one they walked over the loose fabric of his shirt, light and playful just as his tone was. Credence wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to do this, but the many times Gellert admonished him for worrying over the attraction he’d had towards Mr. Graves came quickly back to mind. Credence had said he’d understood, and that he believed that Gellert really didn’t feel jealous. But saying that was one thing. 

Gellert leaned up, his brown eyes searching Credence’s under heavy brows that reminded Credence of his days spent studying with Mr. Graves now. “I don’t want you to worry about this anymore,” Gellert whispered and placed a kiss upon Credence’s mouth. 

With Gellert leading, it was easy for Credence to open up to him. Credence kissed back, remembering the shape of this mouth against his own when Gellert had kissed him this way before. It was less familiar than his own mouth now, but not entirely unknown to Credence. There was the faintest hint of stubble rather than the moustache, and it was different, but not bad. 

Gellert heard Credence remind himself, just to feel better, that it was Gellert behind the face, and so he deepened the kiss, trying to push those thoughts away. He let his fingers twist in the back of Credence’s hair, just like he knew the boy had always wished he would do in those alleys, fantasising about Mr. Graves’ mouth upon his, his back up against the dirty, brick wall, and the man’s hands in his hair. 

They broke apart and Credence’s eyes blinked open, stray memories flitting through his mind. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Gellert pulled Graves’ mouth into an encouraging smile. And then he turned his voice serious and dropped it low. Exaggeratedly low. “Won’t you help me, Credence? You don’t know what you do to me. I’ve had this stick up my arse for too long and I need someone to help me pull it out.” 

Credence’s eyes widened in shock. And then his face split. A laugh bubbled up from his throat before he could catch it. “Mr. Graves doesn’t sound like that,” he chided on principle, pushing at Gellert’s shoulder. 

Gellert just drew his brows together and held them that way, instantly turning his expression into something resembling distress. “No? How do I sound?” He switched to a low whisper and leaned in close. “I am _desperately_ in love with you, Credence. I can prove it. Just feel my throbbing, aching, pulsing, _affection_.” He emphasised the point by twisting his hips and reaching down between his legs to palm his—Graves’—crotch through his trousers, all the while doing that thing with his eyebrows. 

Credence lost it. He’d never laughed so hard in his life. Even with first one and then two palms pressed over his mouth, curling in on himself to try to stop the sound, he couldn’t manage to stifle it. And Gellert—Mr. Graves—was laughing right beside him, chuckling deeply, his forehead pressed into Credence’s shoulder. He was twice Credence’s size, but he’d made himself seem less imposing laying like he was in the boy’s lap. 

The thought of laughing at Mr. Graves like that had never before crossed Credence’s mind. It shouldn’t have even been funny, but somehow Gellert hyperbolised him so well. 

Gellert lifted his head and nuzzled against Credence’s cheek, making the boy squirm amid his fading giggles. “What do you say? Just for fun? Then I’ll go back to my own body, and you won’t have to feel so uncertain about all this anymore.” 

Credence was beginning to see what Gellert was doing, or so he thought he did. Although he’d finally accepted Gellert’s word that he wanted Credence to get on with Mr. Graves without any lingering insecurities, and that included someday possibly indulging in the attraction Credence felt for him, Gellert wanted Credence to be certain beyond words that this was acceptable. 

Gellert felt the pieces fitting together in the boy’s mind, and, finally, Credence’s laughter settled down, and he nodded. “Okay.” Credence looked him over, glancing down over his half-dressed body to his crotch where he was half hard from the teasing and palming himself, and then up his chest, covered only by the loose shirt he still wore. When Credence met his eyes again, he looked a little more certain. “Okay, ‘Mr. Graves.’” 

Gellert’s face split into a grin. 

Immediately, he felt Credence’s self-consciousness about doing this when the real Mr. Graves was within the same flat and when Credence would have to see the man again the following day, and pretend this never happened, but Gellert scooted closer and silenced those thoughts with a kiss. 

After a little coaxing, Credence was just as receptive as he’d grown to be with Gellert in his usual body. Technically, this was not the first time Gellert had worn this face while they were intimate, but it would be the first time he did so after Credence had well and truly come to accept who he was without the disguise. As well as the first time Credence was reminded of the real Percival Graves, rather than Gellert’s impersonation of him. 

But Credence kissed back at Gellert’s encouragement, and slowly began to explore the differences between them again. When Credence ran a small hand over Gellert’s shoulder and down his arm, the boy found the shape of it different. The texture of stubble over his jaw was different, and so was the dark hair peeking out of the collar of the unbuttoned portion of his shirt. 

What had not changed about Gellert was his scent, mostly, as he’d still washed with the same soap that morning and used the same shaving cream and all the other little things that went into it throughout the day, and Credence, whilst sitting beside Mr. Graves so often, had begun to notice that subtle difference between them. The other difference was Gellert’s movements. The way he kissed was familiar to Credence, although Gellert knew Credence had never been kissed by anyone else and would not realise this until he was. 

Those little familiarities helped open Credence up to him. The comfort and security Credence felt allowed the boy to lay back when Gellert lifted himself up and scooted Credence’s hips down so that Credence was beneath him. He laid himself over the boy, pressing his weight gently down and letting Credence’s legs wrap around his waist. 

Credence wrapped his arms around Gellert’s neck and held him down, quickly wanting more. He still never asked for what he wanted outright, but knowing now that Gellert could hear his thoughts made it irrelevant. Credence only occasionally felt self-conscious over a stray thought now. Pushing mentally for what he wanted, once he’d gotten past the initial uncertainty, left Credence feeling less and less guilty. Not when Gellert’s eyes were dancing with mirth at him in delight every time they broke apart. 

Gellert let his hands run up and down Credence’s body, over his clothes, and felt the boy arch into it. “That’s it,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Credence’s collar. He began undoing the buttons of Credence’s shirt with one hand. The boy may have liked seeing him undress with magic, but it was still a little unsettling whenever Gellert did it to him. Gellert didn’t mind though. Unwrapping Credence with his bare hands was a pleasure. 

Swiftly, he pulled away Credence’s shirt and unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down the boy’s short legs and letting him squirm the rest of the way out. He grinned with Percival’s mouth and teased the boy by running the light stubble of his jaw over Credence’s sternum. Down and down he went, kissing and letting Credence watch his dark head of hair descend to the boy’s navel, then his hips, and then, finally, to his little cock. 

Credence’s hips jerked when Gellert pressed his mouth over it, just the very tip, and began running his tongue over the head. He knew how stimulating it would feel. The boy’s cock was so small that the sensation would be that much more direct, and that much more intense for it. 

Credence’s breath turned shaky. His toes curled out of the corner of Gellert’s eye, and once again, Gellert smirked. He knew Percival would not act like this, teasing and so very confident, with the boy, but that wasn’t the point. All he needed was the face and the desire and Credence would make the connection. 

Credence whimpered, and then there were fingers in Gellert’s hair, not pulling or tugging or trying to move him any which way, just there, digging in and messing it up, feeling the different texture of it under Credence’s hands. It made him smile around the boy’s cock. Playfully, he shook his head and encouraged Credence to keep feeling, keep exploring. And so Credence did. 

It was a strange form of pure indulgence, allowing the boy to explore Percival’s body. After a few more sucks, Gellert pulled off to do just that. 

Credence was left whimpering softly and shifting his hips to try to draw Gellert back, but as soon as his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, Credence realised what he was about to do and stilled. Credence watched with rapt attention as Gellert exposed more and more of Percival’s chest, all the way down to his belly, and then pulled the shirt over his shoulders and tossed it aside. He let Credence take him in, up on his knees above the boy, looking down at him with a quick raise of his brow and a wink, before Gellert went for the buttons of his trousers. 

Credence was frozen at the sight of him like this. The boy’s memory kept flashing back to the Graves from New York and the way he’d imagined this moment back then. Imagined what it would be like to be in his bed. Credence had imagined it somewhere in a brownstone by the park, perhaps. He’d imagined Mr. Graves to be serious and stoic as…well, much like the actual Percival Graves was sometimes, but still burning with Gellert’s fire whenever he would take Credence to bed. That fantasy was quickly being replaced by a new one. The one right in front of him. 

Gellert pushed a hand down his open trousers and let Credence watch him stroke himself underneath the fabric. He had to admit, Percival had a very nice cock, and he wanted to give the boy a bit of a show. Slowly, he circled his hips as he worked the length of it, letting Credence imagine what it looked like beneath his hand. 

When the boy’s breathing slowed and his attention was fixed, Gellert removed his hand and hooked his thumbs in the top of his trousers, and then peeled them down his thighs. Percival’s rigid cock sprang free and Credence’s eyes widened. 

Gellert couldn’t help a chuckle. Credence still hadn’t gotten over seeing a man’s cock this way, not even after how familiar he was with Gellert’s. And of course, Credence was suddenly curious. Gellert and Percival were comparable in length and girth, much like the rest of their bodies, but shaped slightly differently. 

He pulled off the rest of his trousers and tossed them the way of his shirt and then settled down over Credence’s legs, scooting up to give the boy a better view. When Credence hesitated, Gellert reached for his hand and brought it to Percival’s length, encouraging him to run his fingers over it. And Credence did. His mouth parted as old fantasies again came back to him. His eyes trailed down the sparse line of dark hair below Gellert’s belly button down to the curls just above his cock, and then over it as well. 

Its head was already flushed. Gellert loved watching Credence explore, and when the tip of his finger brushed over the head, Gellert bit his lip and exhaled. Credence’s eyes darted up to his face, suddenly remembering himself and what sensations his touches must be having on Gellert. 

Gellert bent and leaned down over him for a kiss, one that was deep and hungry, that caught Credence’s lip between his teeth and worried at it gently before releasing it and then delving in again. Gellert let himself get caught up in it while the boy continued to lightly stroke his cock. It wasn’t long at all before his breath was coming just as short as Credence’s had been a minute ago. 

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” Gellert whispered against Credence’s mouth. It was Percival’s voice, but not exaggerated. 

And it was true. Credence had all the signs, but it was still hard for him to believe what Gellert was thinking when he looked at the boy, or that Credence could have this effect on him. 

It wasn’t hard for Credence to imagine those words from the real Mr. Graves’ mouth, either, after the things Gellert told Credence. Or rather, it wasn’t hard to imagine in a fantasy, like this. 

Credence’s soft breath touched Gellert’s cheek. He spread his legs wider. His heart was pounding, Gellert could feel it, but Credence remained silent. 

Still, Gellert knew what that meant. “You want me inside you?” 

Credence nodded. 

Gellert grinned, expression all himself for that split second. “Okay.” 

He kissed Credence again and then laid the boy back down, repositioning them until he could work a hand in between Credence’s legs. His whispered spell for slickness at the tips of his fingers had Credence biting his lip and Gellert delighted in the sight. He pressed his palm over the boy’s cock just to see Credence bite harder and squirm against him before moving lower and working the slick over Credence’s entrance. 

Credence wrapped his arms around Gellert’s neck, but laid still for him as he slipped one inside and began to work Credence open. Gellert looked into his eyes and found Credence’s mind consumed by this and only this—the sound of their breathing, the feel of Gellert’s finger crooking inside him and rubbing just right, the sight of Mr. Graves right in front of him, just like he’d wished, but with dark eyes full of heat and want that had become so familiar with Gellert. 

Credence had always been a daydreamer, had always been somewhere else in his own head when he could be. He preferred that to what his reality used to be more often than not, but right then, he was consumed by this moment, this fantasy of Gellert playing his Mr. Graves again. 

And so it was easy for Gellert to reach out with a touch of magic and find the door, easy for him to flip the lock, to turn the handle, and draw it open just a sliver. It didn’t make a sound, but that didn’t matter, not when a moan hitched in Credence’s throat when Gellert rubbed just right inside him. It would have covered the sound anyway. 

Finger after finger he worked inside of Credence, all with a generous addition of slick to ease the way, until Credence’s arms around his neck had grown so tight that it was almost painful and the boy was taking the thrusts of his fingers with more vigour. Until he reached out and told Gellert without words that he was ready, and that he wanted more. 

Gellert licked his lips and kissed Credence while he pulled his hand free. He released the boy and let him watch as Gellert lined himself up. He wanted Credence to see this. He wanted the boy to both see his face and watch his cock press inside him. 

Credence did not disappoint. The moment he had the chance, his eyes fixed on the length of it between their bodies and remained there as Gellert pressed the blunt head against his opening and began to push it inside. 

At the initial discomfort, Credence’s mouth opened, but he didn’t cry out. He took in a deep breath of air and let Gellert continue, slowly sinking into him. 

It was hard to move that slow, but worth it. More than worth it. To see Credence’s brows knit and his eyes close for that moment he was trying to remain relaxed in spite of the burn. They both knew Gellert could take that pain away with magic, and he would if Credence didn’t relax enough soon, but he wanted Credence to experience this moment in its entirety as best as he could. And that included a little discomfort. 

When Gellert had sank into the boy as far as he could go right then, the presence of another mind in the hall caught his attention. 

Percival Graves, the real one, after having cleaned up for the night and eaten a small meal left by Gwendoline in the kitchen, was headed back their way. After Gellert and Credence hadn’t joined him since Gellert returned, he figured he knew what they were up to. He expected to find Gellert’s door closed and himself left to find his own entertainment until Gellert saw fit to get up and send him back to his bedroom and chain. So it came as a great shock to Percival to find a sliver of light emanating from Gellert’s door in the otherwise dark hallway. 

Gellert stilled his hips and bent down to kiss and soothe Credence, shushing him softly before he made any sound. Credence was trying to let his body adjust, but it would take a minute, and that was alright with Gellert. His attention was still locked on the man in the hallway, all but watching through Percival’s eyes as he approached the door, a thrill of apprehension in the pit of his stomach alongside a thrill of something…else. 

Gellert smiled down at Credence, his teeth and eyes glinting in the lamplight, and then he gave the first thrust. 

Credence let out a breath. His eyes closed and he clung to Gellert’s shoulders as Gellert continued to move in a gentle rhythm. Credence’s head fell back as pleasure bloomed inside him and he let out a soft grunt. 

“That’s my boy,” Gellert said softly, running his fingers through Credence’s hair while his hips moved against the boy’s body. 

He heard his own voice echo in Percival’s mind, and, sure enough, followed by the reeling shock as the man neared close enough to the crack in the door to peer inside. The visual was so strong in Percival’s mind—himself, bent over Credence’s small figure, the boy’s head back in either pleasure or agony, clutching his arms while their hips moved together. All dusted in the warm glow of the lamps on the wall and beside Gellert’s bed. 

The two of them appeared perfectly caught up in one another, or so it appeared to Percival, and so Gellert gave no outward indication that he’d noticed anything amiss. 

As soon as Credence clutched harder at the arms of the man on top of him and tried to rock back against him, it became clear that what the boy was feeling was not agony at all, and Percival was struck dumb where he stood outside their door. His mind had shut down. All Gellert was getting from him were visuals and a vague sense of disbelief as they continued to move, as Gellert leaned down and whispered pleasant things into Credence’s ear before he bit down lightly. 

Percival’s eyes locked on the way the boy’s back arched and his arms flew around his double’s neck. Gellert drew the other Percival’s hands down Credence’s sides and hooked them around his hips to help pull the boy up against him with each rock of their hips, pulling him in and just a little deeper. And just a little better to see from the doorway. 

Percival brought a hand to his mouth for fear he might make an involuntary sound. Blood pooled in his groin as he watched the two, understanding that this was Gellert indulging in something very, very private with Credence, but barely able to believe it. 

When Credence hooked his ankles together behind the small of Gellert’s back, he used the leverage to lift the boy up and into his arms, sitting him down on his lap so that he could thrust up. Credence did cry out that time. The position drove Gellert deeper, but he caught Credence and made sure the boy was crying out in unexpected pleasure rather than pain. Credence’s little mewling sounds did not stop as Gellert continued to pump up into him. He hooked his chin over Gellert’s shoulder and let his body relax completely, allowing Gellert to move him however he wanted. 

Gellert stroked Credence’s hair. He pressed kisses down the side of the boy’s face and neck and then upon his shoulder before lowering his other hand down to Credence’s backside. He needed no extra help to move Credence against him in that position. He just wanted to feel the plush globe of Credence’s arse in his palm as he sank the boy down on his cock. 

Outside, Percival was breathing hard. He was very sure at this point they did not know he was there. He assumed Gellert was too engrossed in the moment to notice his thoughts or presence, but he knew well enough that Gellert might be able to pick it out of his brain later. 

Percival bit his lip. He knew he should leave. He’d seen too much already, and Gellert would notice if that was at the forefront of his mind. He was not a novice in occlumency. He could keep these thoughts away later, he was fairly certain, no matter how much he was reeling inside at the sight of himself with the boy, but if Gellert ever went looking…. 

Gellert felt Percival try to pull himself away, but his feet would not budge. His hand pressed against the frame of the door, careful not to make a sound. As much as Percival knew he shouldn’t, his desire to stay was overwhelming. 

Gellert hid a smile against Credence’s neck. He squeezed the boy’s arse and Credence’s legs tightened around him. The boy’s face turned red. Somehow that little show of base physical appreciation made Credence flush more deeply than he had in weeks and Gellert could not help a low laugh. He did it again, pointedly this time, just to watch the flush spread down Credence’s neck. 

At the doorway, Percival let out a shaky, soundless breath. Against his will, his hand palmed the front of his trousers. Just a light touch against a fast growing erection, but it was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He felt too hot all over. 

_Too much, too much, this was already far too much,_ Percival berated himself in his mind, but he could not stop. When Credence moaned again, he squeezed. When his double lifted the boy up only to lay him back against the bed, sinking down with him so that Credence looked like he would be smothered under the man’s still thrusting body, Percival knew he didn’t have much time left. He slipped his hand inside his trousers and grasped his cock. 

Gellert groaned. He would have reached down between himself and Credence to stroke the boy, but Credence was clinging to him too desperately and he was too far gone to put an inch of space between them, either. He held the boy’s arse in both hands now, driving himself into Credence over and over with a rapidly building pace. 

Credence pressed his head against Gellert’s collarbone and simply held on, letting sensation overwhelm him. 

When Gellert finally came, it was with a deep and guttural sound. He stilled almost at once, holding inside Credence’s body until he was spent and the spasms of climax had washed through him and only his breath remained heavy and shaking. 

Percival squeezed his cock tight and pressed his lips together, freezing for the few moments Gellert held still over Credence. Until Gellert began to move again. 

One slow thrust of Gellert’s hips had him wincing a little at the overstimulation, but he was still hard. Between his own arousal, Credence’s, and Percival’s outside the room, it was a little overwhelming. He found he wasn’t quite ready for this to be over. He sat up, still inside Credence, and smiled down at the boy. 

Credence blinked up at him, a little dazed himself now, until Gellert licked his fingers and wrapped them around Credence’s cock. Immediately, Credence mewled and tried to thrust back against him. The boy’s hands gripped tight to his knees as Gellert worked him in a slow rhythm. 

Far too slow compared to what it had been moments ago. The longer he went on like that, the more Credence squirmed with impatience. The boy’s nails dug into his flesh and Credence whined in the back of his throat. As much as he wanted it, he still couldn’t beg aloud. 

When Gellert was finally ready to build the pace again, he did so with his fingers first. They moved in counterpoint to his thrusts inside Credence, and the unequal rhythm of it, inside and out, had Credence quickly overwhelmed. His hands left Gellert’s knees and wound in the sheets beside him. His back arched and Gellert picked up the pace even faster as Credence’s thoughts turned into nothing but a mantra of _more, more, moremoreplease_. 

The boy’s toes curled when he came, his whimper muffled by clenched teeth. 

Outside, Percival came with him, pumping hard and fast before spilling into his hand. 

Gellert had mercy on Credence and pulled out before he bent down, grinning along the way, and pressed soft kisses against his cheek. 

Credence’s eyes grew heavy, his small chest rose and fell with every breath he took, sucking air in deep as he tried to come down from the high. It still overwhelmed him every time. It overwhelmed Gellert, too, to be inside him, but it was different for Credence, who had never indulged more than with his own hand before this. Every time, he felt like he was out of control. It was nearly as frightening as it was pleasurable for him, falling apart like that under Gellert’s hands. 

Gellert loved to hear him think it. 

He got to his knees above Credence as the boy was coming down and took his cock—Percival’s cock—in his hand again and began working himself fast. Percival was still watching outside, Gellert knew, although he too was trying to put himself back together as well as he could. But this wasn’t a show for Percival now. This was for himself. 

The features of Percival Graves melted away from Gellert’s face as Credence watched from below. His breathing finally calmed and his lips parted as Gellert’s expression grew tight and his teeth bared. His hand worked faster and faster until finally he climaxed for the second time that night, cum spilling over Credence’s chest. 

Gellert closed his eyes and let a satisfied smile spread over his face. Percival was still watching, in spite of his better reasoning, and Credence…Credence was staring up at him with a look of utmost adoration. It had been a long time since anyone who knew Gellert well looked at him like that. 

Then Credence looked down over his stomach. He touched the tips of his fingers to the drops of white liquid there and made a funny face. 

Gellert gave a laugh and flopped down on the bed beside him, running his hand through it as well. “There’s more of that between your legs,” he whispered in Credence’s ear and watched the boy glance down and then shrink into himself a little. It was reflex. Inside his mind, Gellert felt only amusement and a slight sense of grossness. 

Gellert turned his back to Percival and began to clean Credence up, listening as the man made his retreat. He could feel Percival’s heart pounding all the way to the end of the hall before he reached the bathroom.

With a wordless spell, Gellert shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the chapter in which Gellert encourages Percival to see himself in Credence.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, Percival acted as though nothing had happened. 

He’d done that the night prior, too, when Gellert had gone to find him again and sent him back to his room and chain. Gellert had laid in bed with Credence long enough to allow Percival to clean up in the bathroom without interruption or suspicion that he’d been noticed, and by the time Gellert slipped out of his bedroom, Percival had been in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of water, staring into space. 

Gellert had clucked his tongue at the man and told him to get up. It was time for bed. Percival didn’t meet his eyes. 

Percival had been avoiding Gellert’s gaze all morning, too. He kept quiet while Gellert read the paper and muttered commentary to the room at large. Credence was only half paying attention and more interested in the buttery almond croissants Gwendoline had served, and Percival had become as silent as stone. All he gave Gellert in response were cursory nods. 

Credence didn’t even notice, and it amused Gellert. The boy had grown oblivious on occasion in his contentment while Gellert spent time with him. It was one of the many things about the boy that should have been annoying, but instead he found endearing. He supposed he couldn’t blame the boy. In Credence’s eyes, Percival was often quiet, especially when Gellert was around, but sometimes even when the two of them were alone. And Credence had every right to believe that what he and Gellert had done the night prior had not been witnessed by anyone else. 

That taken into account, Gellert reasoned the boy was probably doing his best not to look at Percival directly, either. 

Gellert set down his newspaper and looked between his two companions, studiously avoiding each other, one unconsciously, the other not. He wondered how long this would go on if he let it. Indefinitely, was all he could assume based on Percival’s stubborn streak and Credence’s avoidance. That was altogether unacceptable. 

“Credence.” Gellert laid his elbows on the table and fixed the boy with a calm, but serious look. “Would you mind terribly if Percival and I talked for a minute, alone?” 

The boy paused in the middle of licking cream from his thumb and glanced back and forth between the two men. His distraction came to a very sudden end, Gellert could feel it, as he realised he’d been missing something that morning. Something he should have noticed, but he could not tell what. 

Neither Gellert nor Percival seemed any different than they usually did at breakfast. Unless it was something about Gellert’s plans that he wanted to speak to the other man about privately, Credence reasoned, but he was still unsure. 

“Why don’t you go into my study for a while,” Gellert suggested. “We won’t be long. I’ll call for you.” 

Credence licked his lips and lowered his hand. He didn’t like feeling this oblivious to whatever was going on, but he nodded. “Okay.” 

Doing as instructed, Credence pushed his empty plate back and climbed down from his chair, glancing at the two men once more and noticing that Mr. Graves’ eyes were now fixed on Gellert. He did not look well. He was sitting stock still and his face had lost some colour. 

“Good boy.” Gellert offered him a smile, unaffected by Graves’ staring. 

Whatever this was, Credence sensed at once that he did not want to be a part of it, and didn’t linger. 

He made his way back to Gellert’s study, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear anything since it was on the opposite side of the flat, not unless their voices got loud enough. 

He hadn’t spent much time in the room by himself, and a sense of strangeness overcame him as he entered. There stood Gellert’s desk in the middle, clean of stray parchment and adorned only with a leather pad, a set of stationary, and a box of quills. Everything else was tucked away inside it, or on the shelves behind. The clutter that had been in Credence’s old room was now kept in this one, and most of it Credence didn’t know the purpose for. But there was one item on the desk Credence hadn’t seen before. It was rather large, and flat, and glinted silver when he turned on the light. 

Curious, Credence went around to the other side of the desk, next to the leather chair that dwarfed him. It was a mirror. A hand mirror, but a large one at that. Big enough to show the viewer’s whole face and then some. Glancing at it from the side, there was nothing interesting about it except for delicate swirls of silver embossed along its edges, alternating between a matte finish and a polished shine. 

But as soon as Credence drew closer, as soon as he looked straight on, the reflection on its surface changed. Where he’d seen the ceiling a moment ago, now he saw what at first he thought was an unfamiliar room with two men standing at its centre. The men, however, were not strangers. He could see clearly that they were Gellert and Mr. Graves, and as soon as Credence realised that, he saw that this was the dining room, simply from an angle he’d never seen it. He was watching them from a position somewhere high on the wall, it seemed, and the closer he came, he realised that he could hear the faint sound of their voices. 

Credence found his heart beating. Uncertainty filled him. He’d been sent away for a reason. Gellert didn’t want him overhearing whatever they were talking about, and finding this mirror, if he watched it and listened, meant he was going directly against Gellert’s wishes. He’d been striving so much lately not to do that. Not that Credence wanted to let Gellert blindly lead him into whatever the man wanted, either, but…. He wanted to please the man. And he _was_. By all accounts, Gellert was happy with him, cared for him, was even, miraculously, _awed_ by him. And Credence did not want to spoil that. 

He touched the mirror’s handle and drew it down, closer, and tried to decide if he should leave. To his surprise, the faint voices grew a little louder. Not because the men were speaking any louder. The mirror seemed to respond to his intention. 

It struck Credence, then, that Gellert would have known this was sitting here, waiting for him, when Gellert had sent him to the study. Unless there was some way in which the mirror was reacting to him, specifically, that Gellert hadn’t anticipated. But, Credence had to concede, that was very unlikely. 

He glanced to the door. He’d closed it behind him, thinking that was what Gellert must have wanted, but now…. Gellert would know no matter what Credence chose to do. Credence wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. But with the mirror just laying out like this, as if expecting to be found, coupled with Credence truly not wanting to be left in the dark, Credence decided to stay. And watch. 

He settled himself into the big leather chair and pulled the mirror down into his lap. If anyone opened the door, they’d find him like that, he knew. If it was Gellert, he hoped this would be expected. If it was Mr. Graves, then…Credence wasn’t sure. The Graves in the mirror did not look very happy. 

Back in the dining room, Percival was silent. He’d stood from the table while Gwendoline cleared the plates, floating them into the kitchen where she washed and put them away, only the soft sounds of their clatter giving away her presence.

“We have something to discuss,” Gellert told him, gesturing for Percival to follow into the living room. 

Percival was nervous. It was in the set of his shoulders and the tension amplified in his frame, but Gellert wanted to make him as comfortable as possible. Percival’s mind was already a whirl of memories from the night prior, and fears over what Gellert might do about it, but he was trying to push them down and obfuscate his mind as much as possible. It might have worked on another legilimens. 

Gellert sat himself down on the couch. He let Percival stand. It would make Percival feel better. 

A moment of silence passed while Gellert looked him over without judgement. Appreciatively, even. When Gellert lifted his eyes back to Percival’s, he caught Percival drawing in a short breath. 

Gellert leaned back and drew an arm out over the back of the couch. “You want him.” 

Percival’s insides froze. With certainty, he knew that Gellert knew. He closed his eyes. 

“No, no, no….” Gellert shook his head. “Don’t be like that. I know what you did last night. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Is that what you intended?” Percival asked, his eyes still shut tight. “Did you mean for me to see you? You’re not that careless with your privacy.” 

“No, I’m not.” Gellert remained still, his voice cordial. “It was an invitation. If you wanted it. Because I’m right, aren’t I? You do want him.” 

Percival’s lip twitched, stopping himself before he spoke. Instead his teeth ground together. He was battling with himself, shame mixing with anger and a need to retaliate clashing with the hard knowledge that Gellert _was_ right. 

“That was clear enough last night.” Gellert prompted when Percival didn’t respond. “With your hand down your trousers, imagining yourself in my place wasn’t hard, was it? Or did you imagine me next to you, encouraging you to take him? Would that make it easier on your conscience?” 

“You _are_ the problem with my conscience.” Percival let out his breath all at once. The tension broke. His chest heaved and his teeth ground together. “Not him. That boy, there is nothing wrong with that boy as he is. Not before you started twisting him into what you want him to be. _You_ are my problem.” 

“Are you listening to yourself, Percy?” Gellert’s eyes widened. That had hurt, surprisingly. “Do you have _any idea_ what ‘that boy’ was like before he came here with me? How timid he was? How much he hated himself, what he was, in every sense? Do you have _any idea_ the shame he felt every day of his life, not because of anything he’d done, but because he’d been taught that that was what he _deserved_?” 

Percival’s anger ebbed and his shoulders grew stiff again. Because he had seen the file. He had heard the stories. 

“You think I am manipulating him for the worse? I am not.” Gellert leaned forward, eyes fixed on Percival. “I will not deny that I employ manipulation in almost every aspect of my life, but it isn’t to lie. I do it to show you the truth.” 

Percival put his hands over his face. Somehow, he felt worse than before. When Gellert spoke like that, Percival could almost imagine he really believed it. 

“Damn your ‘greater good’, Gellert.” Percival sounded broken. He knew there was truth to what Gellert said, but that did not negate the fact that Gellert was manipulating the boy. That Percival, too, would be manipulating the boy if he gave into this desire. The fact that Credence had been, for all intents and purposes, turned into a child, just compounded it all. 

Slowly, Gellert stood. He approached Percival carefully, ready to stop if he tried to lash out. “Let me ask you this. Would you deny a boy the love that you feel, knowing he may return it, simply because you think that it might be considered unhealthy, or that you might be taking advantage of him, when the alternative is letting him go on thinking he deserves the shame he feels for his desires? And the both of you being miserable about it?” 

Percival was shaking his head by the time Gellert moved into his space and touched his arm. He didn’t attempt to take a swing at Gellert, even though the vague thought crossed his mind. It was distant. Something he felt he should want to do, but didn’t in reality. “Those aren’t the only options, and you know it. You could have talked to him, taught him differently than the church did, without taking advantage. You’re just pushing for one alternative.” 

“My alternative is far less cold than yours.” Gellert raised a hand and pressed it gently to Percival’s cheek. 

The fight really had drained out of him. Such a contrast to how he’d been moments ago, Percival’s shoulders were slumped and his head was bent. He was not looking at Gellert, but he let himself be touched. Even let himself find a small amount of comfort in it. 

“Forget all that for a minute, and answer one simple question. Do you want him?” Gellert’s question was soft between them. 

Percival nodded. 

He may have felt like he was damning himself, but that was out of the bag already. And he did care for Credence. And he was attracted to the boy. In spite of—no, not in spite of—how childlike he was now. That was another twist of guilt in Percival’s gut, that for some reason his eye was drawn to the plushness of Credence’s mouth, how soft his arms and thighs were when they sat together, and how small he was compared to Percival himself. Or Gellert, when Gellert had the boy in his arms or they stood side by side. And Percival had admitted a long time ago how much he found Gellert—Grindelwald, he’d been ‘Grindelwald’ back then, not Gellert—attractive. 

“That’s enough for now, then.” Gellert squeezed his arm. A reassuring touch. He smoothed his fingers over Percival’s temple and let the man share the weight of his guilt as though Gellert could take it from him. He was the cause of it, after all. 

Percival sighed when Gellert’s fingers parted from his face. “I won’t do anything about it, you know.” 

Gellert raised an eyebrow, sensing one last effort in Percival’s mind to make that point. “Are you telling me? Or are you telling yourself?” His face split into a smile, soft and arrogant. He leaned in quick with a whisper. “Because I think you should.” And then pulled away again, smile back in place. 

Percival said nothing as Gellert let him go. He knew his face had flushed. He did not know how his resolve had crumbled so fast. Between his declaration and Gellert’s quip back, he didn’t feel like he had much of a fight left. Not that he was going to…not that he was going to allow Gellert to lead him into anything. His rational mind was still there and working well. He just didn’t feel the denial over Credence so deep in his bones anymore. It was that denial Gellert had seen, scoffed at, and pulled out of his grasp. 

“Just don’t push your luck,” was all Percival could offer in retaliation, pulling his head up and turning his mouth into a sneer to match Gellert when he was in a mood. It was forced. 

That only made Gellert smile wider. “I won’t need to.” 

There was little Percival could say to that, so he left. He didn’t want to face Gellert anymore that morning. It was clear that this was all he was going to get—gloating. 

Gellert listened to the door of Percival’s room thud shut. He didn’t slam it. How considerate, even then, he was of not frightening Credence in the room next door. 

Gellert closed his eyes with mirth. Anyone could see how much Percival’s will was fraying. Even someone as inexperienced and unsure of himself as Credence. Credence who remained silent in the study where Gellert had told him to wait. With long strides, Gellert followed Percival down the hall, but opened his own door instead and slipped inside. 

There, sitting in his oversized chair, with the mirror propped up in his lap against the desk, sat Credence, watching the whole thing. The boy’s eyes rose to meet his, looking in equal halves guilty and concerned. Concerned with a tinge of uncertainty in his mind. Gellert felt the part of Credence that stung, felt betrayed over Percival implying Gellert had allowed them to be seen. 

Gellert held up his hand. “Please, don’t be upset with me. I wouldn’t have tolerated him seeing if I hadn’t known where it would lead.” 

Credence’s brows drew together in two sharp points as he let the anger show on his face. For someone so small, such a severe expression was unnerving. He remained silent. His thoughts had been flitting all over when Gellert walked in, but now Credence was focused on only one thing. 

Gellert drew up to the desk and, with a tap of his wand, disassembled a nearby table and reassembled it into a chair in one smooth motion to face opposite Credence. He placed his arms upon the desk and leaned close. “You like him. I know you do. I had to get him to come around. To indulge, if you will, and he did. Last night while you and I were together, he was pleasuring himself to the thought of being in that room. You heard him admit it.” 

Beside the spike of hurt that Credence felt, another emotion was creeping in, insidiously and unexpected for the boy. He liked seeing Gellert prostrate himself like this, asking for Credence’s forgiveness. He hadn’t had the capacity to feel that in New York, not even when ‘Mr. Graves’ had been down on his knees. It had been satisfying in a dull and distant way, but the pain and rage had been too consuming. Credence had looked down upon Gellert then with the obscururs’ eyes and wished Gellert had spoken like that sooner. When Credence had had a chance to forgive the man. 

Gellert laid his hand down on the table, reaching out to Credence in a small gesture. “Trust me.” 

Credence had the power to forgive him, or not. His brows relaxed and he let that sensation wash over him. It was not a kind of power he often had. He looked at Gellert, then down to the offered hand and considered. 

Finally, Credence reached out and Gellert turned his palm up to slip the boy’s hand into his own. “Don’t do that again.” Credence’s voice was soft, but hard. 

Gellert squeezed. “I won’t need to.”

Credence’s frown didn’t fade. His composure did not melt. 

Gellert sighed. “Alright. I won’t, not without your permission. But it _did_ work, and I think you’ll be happy with the result.” 

A crease of question edged into Credence’s brow, softening his expression. The boy had understood what he’d seen in their conversation, but he didn’t necessarily believe it would change anything. Except maybe make Mr. Graves even more uncomfortable around him. Although, Percival didn’t know that Credence had heard. 

Gellert rose and went around to Credence’s side of the desk. “Up. Let me show you.” 

Obediently, Credence climbed out of the chair and let Gellert sit down, then climbed into Gellert’s lap when he opened his arms for the boy. It was second nature now, a comfortable position for the both of them—Credence tucked against Gellert’s chest, his legs either curled up in the chair with them or dangling over Gellert’s knees. Gellert always made sure Credence felt secure in his arms. 

Gellert picked up the mirror and let Credence hold it in his lap for them both to see. He laid his chin upon Credence’s shoulder and with a flick of his fingers, the scene in the dining room began to replay itself. 

“Poor Percival has been denying his feelings to himself as much as to me all this time. Not anymore.” Gellert pressed a kiss between Credence’s neck and shoulder, causing him to squirm at the ticklish sensation. 

Degree by degree, Credence was melting. When he’d watched in the solitude of the study, Credence had been engrossed, unable to believe what he was hearing, and echoes of those initial reactions flitted through his mind as the scene progressed. 

“It would not take very much to persuade him. If you wanted,” Gellert said softly. “That’s all he needs, only to see your interest in return.” Gellert squeezed his arm around Credence, again a gesture of security, knowing the boy felt comfort in it. Credence always liked to be smothered in his arms. 

Gellert knew he always managed to challenge, even unsettle, the boy with his words and then turn all that around with physical comforts. But he didn’t intend his suggestions to unsettle Credence, and he hoped that it would not. 

Credence understood that much. Or he thought he did, since it was still difficult for him not to be cautious around the subject of Percival. “I’ve never….” Credence swallowed. “I’ve never tried to approach a man in that way before. Nor anyone.” 

Gellert hummed softly into his neck. “I know. But that’s alright. If you do, you should do it your own way. Think back to the way you are with me, how you don’t have to be afraid, or uncertain, knowing how much I want you.” 

Credence’s shoulders hunched a little, embarrassed, coincidentally, over Gellert suggesting he use what he’d learnt in their time together on Graves. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. You have no reason to be. Absolutely none.” Gellert wrapped his other arm around Credence, letting the boy hold the mirror on his own while he held him tight. 

Credence shivered. Apart from what Gellert had let Percival see last night, Credence had been…surprised, and excited, at what he’d seen in their conversation. His heart had been racing the whole time. Although Percival was still reluctant, because of Gellert, it was obvious he was interested in Credence. When he’d never made a move before. Had often refused to look at Credence when they sat too close or when Gellert was around. Credence hadn’t known what to do about that before, and he’d always just tried to ignore it. It was uncomfortable, and he didn’t know what it meant, except that something was bothering Graves. 

Gellert had told him this before, but he hadn’t heard Graves admit it outright. Slowly, Credence’s shoulders began to relax. Gellert rubbed his sides as he watched the two in the dining room play out their conversation and thought about it. Credence’s mind kept flashing from Percival’s image in the mirror back to Gellert wearing that face the night before. Even though Credence knew that wasn’t him. 

Credence thought back to the times Mr. Graves occupied the flat with him while Gellert was away. That Percival was a little more himself than he was when Gellert returned. A little more relaxed and willing to let his personality come out, not just the stubborn and resistant parts he let Gellert see. 

Credence liked that Percival, even if he was getting to know a completely different person than he thought he’d known. The attraction had never gone away, either. The more he watched, the more his mind began to whir. 

Credence wondered what Graves was doing now, in his room behind the closed door. He was probably rewinding the same conversation in his mind, not in a mirror like this. Credence wondered whether he regretted any of it, or was unhappy. The boy understood why Graves was angry with Gellert, but he had seemed to mean what he said about Credence. 

“This was for you, too,” Gellert said softly. “Your peace of mind, to use as you will.” 

Credence nodded, though he had only vague ideas over why Gellert wanted to push these admissions out of both himself and Mr. Graves. He wasn’t sure that he could put words to it, what Gellert intended to happen, but he was driving them all together, both forcefully and with honeyed propositions. And Credence had to admit, these propositions were tempting. Even if he was nervous. Even if he was insecure in himself and…all of this. 

Credence took a slow breath. He wetted his lips. “What should I do?”

Gellert exhaled in amusement, breath soft and warm against Credence’s neck. “Whatever you like.” He placed a kiss to Credence’s temple and then sat back with the boy to watch the rest of the scene play out. 

They watched the whole way through, Credence as attentive and discerning as ever. His mind picked up everything from Percival’s body language to the fluctuations in Gellert’s tone and the meaning behind it all. Gellert was happy to feel Credence warm to him when he spoke of his convictions. It was interesting how much Credence could appreciate that trait in him, admire it even—how steadfast the figure of Gellert in the mirror stood when he proclaimed he wanted to care for Credence and show it with love. Credence couldn’t understand why Percival thought that part was wrong. The boy could understand that Percival thought Gellert’s views on the world and actions in wizard society were wrong, and even the way he’d used Credence when he didn’t know what Credence was, but Credence could only understand it up to that point. Credence was happy now. For the first time in his life he knew what that felt like, and Gellert had given him that. 

When Gellert gleaned the boy’s thoughts, he remained silent, but he held him as close as he could. 

It was a strange thing to feel, the mind of another thinking of him that way. As someone not only to lean on, but to trust and to…love. Though Credence was in many ways very childlike, it was not the love of a child for a guardian. It was not quite the same as Albus’ love had once been, either, but Gellert could not deny that it felt good. It felt more than good, to be that man in Credence’s mind. To be the boy’s everything. 

When the scene ended, Credence set the mirror down on the table and curled back into Gellert’s arms. Credence felt more optimistic about Percival, if still a little conflicted over the man’s insistence that pursuing anything intimate with him was somehow morally wrong. He did not confide these thoughts to Gellert aloud. Credence knew from watching that Gellert would anticipate his mind, and Gellert found that both amusing and quite sweet. Now that Credence wasn’t upset over the small manipulation. 

For long minutes, Gellert held him and stroked his hair. 

“I have to leave for the day,” Gellert sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll have the flat all to yourself unless you can manage to coax Percy’s door open.” 

Credence could of course open the door at any time he wanted from the outside, but they both knew he wouldn’t. Not without permission from Percival himself. 

Credence whined and tried to burrow against Gellert’s collarbone. “ _All_ day?”

Gellert laughed softly. “Not this again. You’d be sick of me soon enough if I hung around the flat all day.” 

All he got for that was another quiet whine. Gellert knew he’d just left a mess for Credence to deal with, if he chose to visit Percival, which Credence might very well decide not to do the rest of that day. But the boy would have to face their guest at some point. And Gellert knew Credence wanted to, deep down. 

“I’m planning something very important soon. It’ll be worth it.” Gellert scratched gently at the back of Credence’s neck. He received a pleasant feeling from the boy in return, although Credence’s mind was not totally appeased. 

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I should be.” Gellert tried to catch Credence’s eye. He refrained from making any comments on whether or not Credence was too embarrassed to eat with Percival, knowing it would only dampen what bravery Credence still had. Credence did not like to be teased. 

“Okay.” That seemed to be just good enough for Credence. Reluctantly, he climbed down from Gellert’s lap and let him rise.

The mirror’s surface faded back to a reflection of the ceiling as Gellert passed, touching fingertips to Credence’s shoulder to draw the boy along with him. He wished he could have promised Credence then that he’d be able to take him out more often, but Gellert knew that wouldn’t be an option for some time. Not regularly, and not without their disguises. 

“Be good while I’m away,” Gellert told him as he retrieved his coat and hat from the rack and dressed for the cold. 

Credence just stood and watched, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He didn’t hunch as much as he used to, not inside the flat, except at times like this when he was sad to see Gellert leave without him. It was too easy to imagine a shadow looming over him, clouding the air with his unhappiness at their parting. Sometimes, Gellert didn’t have to imagine that shadow of dust. But Credence kept it in check today. The only thing that darkened the hallway was his bowed head and lonely eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gellert cocked his head and chided, but there was no bite to it. “I’ll be back before you know it. And in the end, this will all be worth it.” He sank down to one knee and let Credence fall into his arms for a hug. He squeezed the boy’s small frame tight and drew in the sweet smell of him. Much better than when he’d lived in stuffy old clothes and scrubbed his skin raw with cheap soap. 

When Gellert stood again, Credence held in his complaints and looked up at him. The boy didn’t try for a smile, those were rare enough on him as it was, but he did look a little less gloomy. 

“Alright, then. I’ll see you tonight. And make sure Percival doesn’t starve himself in there all day, won’t you?” Gellert gave a crooked smile. 

Credence nodded and followed Gellert to the door, closing it behind him as he left. 

Gellert knew the two would avoid each other for the rest of the day, but that was alright. It wouldn’t last forever.

* * *

Days passed and stirrings of the Revolution circulated through newspapers around the country while Credence and Percival slowly edged back into normalcy. Gellert was gone just as often as he ever was, but it was the newspapers that tipped Percival off that something was going to happen soon. 

The day they announced the march, Gellert came home to find Percival sitting in his room with one folded over his knee. At his side sat Credence, studying as usual. The boy seemed unworried. So Percival hadn’t made a fuss over it, then. Not yet. 

With a snap of Gellert’s fingers, Percival was freed from the chain. The moment it clanked to the floor, a waterfall of links, he rose and stalked after Gellert down the hall, leaving Credence startled on the couch. 

“Is this real?” Percival held the paper up where the headline prominently proclaimed a congregation of Grindelwald’s supporters had gained permits to lead a procession down the magical quarter of Berlin. “Here? Right where you’re hiding?”

“Why not here?” Gellert raised his brow as he rolled up his sleeves, catching sight of Credence joining them from the hall before he went to pour himself a drink. 

Their eyes were on him, Credence with curiosity—apparently Percival had told him something about the article earlier. Percival’s mind held a mix of apprehension and quiet hope that Gellert was going to put himself centre stage and get caught. Gellert chuckled and decided to pour a drink for Percival as well. 

“This is the capital after all.” Gellert held out the second glass, taking a sip of his own, his eyes steady on Percival. 

After a moment of hesitation, Percival took it and sniffed. Whisky. Gellert had brought it out at dinner before, or after, but though Percival knew it was quite safe, he was always a little wary. 

“You’re surprised I’m making this move legitimately.” Gellert wandered to the living room, gesturing for Credence to follow. 

Credence, who had been lingering on the outskirts of the abrupt conversation, wishing he could break into it, but Credence knew nothing about politics, except for his time with Mary Lou’s campaigning, and he had to bite his lip to keep from interjecting. He followed the gesture easily, climbing up on the couch next to Gellert when he sat. 

Percival shrugged, looking unconvinced but willing to go along with it. “You haven’t been known for such methods so far.” 

“No, I haven’t. But I’ve been painted that way by the papers and their reporters more than anyone has actual evidence against me, and as for the Revolution itself, well, there have been some unfortunate incidents,” Gellert took a sip, eyes trained on Percival, “but by and large they are law abiding witches and wizards. Merely enthusiastic in their cause.” 

Percival looked thoughtful. “Pretty bold move, still.” 

“Oh no, on the contrary, it is a perfectly acceptable one.” Gellert smiled. 

“Are you going to be there?” Credence asked. There was worry in his eyes, but his fingers clutched at the fabric of Gellert’s sleeve with an energy that closer resembled excitement. 

Gellert wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. “I will be. In a fashion, but don’t fret.” Credence’s wide eyes were far too good at pulling him in these days. “I’ll be perfectly safe. And so will the both of you.” 

His assurances may have consoled Credence, but Percival merely shrugged once more and drained the rest of his glass, silently hoping that this little charade would all go to hell.

“Lighten up, Percy. We’re going to have _fun_. This city is going to have a party!” Gellert laughed and Percival merely continued to roll his eyes. 

It was to take place at the end of the week, and although Gellert didn’t mention it often as the day drew closer, neither Percival nor Credence had forgotten. 

It was a strange kind of anticipation for both of them, knowing they’d be cooped up in the flat while the event took place. Percival attempted to put on an air of ambivalence about the approaching day, and since Gellert seemed only amused at his response, Credence decided that there was likely no real reason to worry. 

The evening it was set to begin, Gellert donned his hat and coat like any other day, pressed a kiss to a nervous Credence’s cheek, fell into one of his many transfigured disguises, and slipped out. 

The setting sun lit up the stonework of the flat when he turned back to see it—a little safe box, all for his most precious possessions. Movement in the window caught his eye, and there he glimpsed a small figure pressing up against the glass, looking down. Credence’s features were obscured by the reflection, but it didn’t matter. Gellert didn’t need to see his face. 

Gellert slipped his hands into his pockets and turned back to the street. They would be just fine. Someday soon he wouldn’t have to keep the boy hidden away. And his dear Director—former Director—he may have to keep leashed perhaps, but not hidden. He could taste freedom from his own personal exile on the tip of his tongue as he made his way down street after street, apparating only when certain he was out of sight and far enough from the flat he’d left behind. 

Once he crossed into the hidden streets, he found wizarding Berlin to be thick with foot traffic. More than usual, and every passing body on the cobbled street was in a hurry. At one end stood a short witch with her wand to her throat, her voice amplified above the small group of onlookers she’d collected. It echoed down to where he stood, fighting against the sounds of the city and chanting voices at the street corner opposite. She’d never spoken in public like this before. He could tell by the waver in her voice. Still the onlookers clapped and cheered, raising their wands up like muggle tools. They gathered in protest, as said the magically animated banners that shot from their wands into the air above them, and they would stand ready against the march. 

Gellert made his way down the street at a measured pace. 

Some shops had gone dark early, their doors locked and their signs reading Closed. Others had the opposite idea. The sweets shop Gellert had introduced Credence to had set up tables outside and the shopkeepers were selling to passersby. They were not the only ones who’d prepared. The cafe across the street was offering tea to go. 

A spark of excitement filled the air. Every corner he turned it could be felt in the minds of the witches and wizards around him. They drew together in small crowds throughout the walkway, steadily merging with one another, gaining more people, and then splitting off. Some were frightened. Some were anxious. Others looked ready for a fight. 

The atmosphere changed along with the crowds as Gellert walked on. He could hear drums in the distance, beating with the heart of the city. With the heart of the crowds. Those drums were for him. 

Down and down the street he went, and faces began to blur. The beat grew louder and he knew it had begun. Wizards and witches trickled in from all sides. The crowds grew. Most waited there for the marchers to arrive, to show their resistance. Others followed Gellert’s path towards the oncoming parade. 

None paid him any attention. His nondescript face and bad posture turned their eyes away without a hint of a disillusionment charm. It was all transfiguration and a change of gait here. It had to be. These streets would be watched. The German Ministry was prepared. His disillusionment charms were strong, but best when unexpected. And everyone expected things tonight to go wrong. Gellert was perhaps the only one on the entire street who wondered whether that would be the case. 

The drum beats grew louder. The crowds thickened and he swerved in between bodies left and right until finally the crowds broke into a clearing in the street. A wide berth opened up between onlookers and those headed their way. Gellert stopped at the edge of the throng to watch. 

Contrary to the dark cloaked and menacing figures pictured in the newspapers whenever Gellert or his followers were portrayed, the oncoming throng of them looked no different from the witches and wizards at his side. He could already tell that when the two groups met, the only way to tell them apart was going to be the sparks flying from their wands into the air. As the sun fell below the horizon, his Revolutionaries’ sparks burned a brilliant red, cascading off the buildings around them in a fiery glow.

Gellert had always liked the colour. Against the black of night or fields of white snow, it was just as striking. 

The drums grew, and the crowds around him shrank back. Their chants and the sparks that lit their wands quieted for a moment, uncoordinated, but then returned twice as loud. Redoubling their efforts to oppose the marching crowd. 

These people knew each other. Gellert had heard their stories, those that joined the militia, and those that wrote to him. Every week Arrabella rounded up more of them and sent her recruiters out to round up even more, and on down the line, and in the end she came back with neat little reports of everything they said and did. Everything they wanted and every point that resonated with these people that fit into Gellert’s platform. 

All this, the screaming and shouting around him, the wild beating of drums—magically amplified, and the push and pull of the bodies that passed, heckled as they went, but determined not to falter—it was all inevitable once he’d really gotten started. 

Flashes of red turned auburn and gold against the brick facades above them as the colours battled amid the crowd, their wands moving back and forth like little torches. The familiar hue cast off the long locks of a young wizard leaning out an open window, watching the crowd below, and Gellert’s eyes were drawn to the figure by memory. For a moment, glimpsing someone else, he felt the pain of an old wound. 

He was not meant to have been here alone.

His eyes fell back to the crowd, taking them in—their energy and restrained violence, and soaking it up without thought or reason. He closed his eyes and let himself calm in the midst of chaos. 

They were slated to march the length of the wizarding streets. Gellert knew that was a fair distance and they would soon pass. He would have to follow should he want to see the end of it, but he was not ready to give up this moment. It wasn’t the chaos of battle. There was no rush of adrenaline pouring into his veins and no trained reflexes kicking in to create curses and counter curses. The chaos here was all around him, for once, rather than inside of him, and it felt quite nice. 

At that moment in time, he was no one. Just another face in the crowd. Grindelwald was not scheduled to speak here, nor even attend. This was all about the people speaking for him, spreading his name and his words. 

He basked in their shouts, and those of the opposition just as much. His name rose voice by voice through the crowd, merging with calls of “Aufstieg der Magie”. 

All around was pandemonium in bright lights against the falling darkness and the teaming mass of bodies pushing one another for ground along the streets. 

Finally, Gellert pulled himself from his reverie and followed with the crowds. The marchers were nearly past, which meant the opposition went to follow as well. For all intents and purposes, Gellert could have been one of them, standing to the side as he was, even without his wand at the ready and no slogans to shout at those heading down the street. 

They were not the only onlookers. He spotted a gaggle of wizards in press robes, quills, and cameras following along with the procession as best as they could, trying to get through the crowds. One of them was speaking to a witch in the throng of marchers. 

There would no doubt be a prominent headline in the morning’s paper. He’d passed a few scuffles, but so far none had turned violent. Which was somewhat surprising, considering the level of animosity between the people here and the stories the papers ran of Gellert and his followers’ ‘attacks’ against muggles. 

They hadn’t seen real attacks yet. They hadn’t seen anything yet. 

Gellert picked up his pace to get back to the head of the procession. It wasn’t easy going, and he was careful not to use perception-altering charms to move between the crowds faster, but he managed. His sense of paranoia made him wonder just where the German Ministry was in all this. More than likely, their agents were watching from the windows above. Gellert would be informed by morning. No Ministry ensured absolute loyalty among its agents, and Germany’s was no different, even if Gellert’s loyalists often came from those who didn’t have as comfortable of careers. 

The procession finally culminated at the Wall—a sharp turn in the street, looping back around to form a block back in the opposite direction and going no further. It was called the Wall because it resembled one on the other side, in muggle Berlin, and slices of it could be seen in between the wizarding establishments this side of the barrier. Wizarding children often sneaked to the back of it to see if they could loosen a brick or find a crack large enough to spy upon the muggles on the other side, but were never successful. Not when it was fortified by magical wards. 

It was there that the drumbeats coalesced and there that the marchers gathered. 

Several stood out as ringleaders of the crowd. Gellert didn’t recognise them, but he hadn’t expected to. These people didn’t cross paths with him. If any of them had, it would be in the newly formed militias. They were merely swept up in the ideals. But they would spread his name and his words. They would spread the cause. He didn’t need to speak here, or stand with them. He was in their words and their camaraderie. 

Gellert slipped back into the crowds as scuffles began to break out. He’d seen enough.

Either the Revolution would gain ground tonight, or they would walk away bloodied and angrier than before. 

He turned his back to the shouting as chants turned to outcries and outcries were interrupted by a scream. Aurors would descend soon to break it up if they could. Gellert wasn’t the only one trying to get out of the mess. 

Someone shot a jet of sparking fire into the air, high above their heads. So high that it rose above the wall. Intending to make a scene for the muggles on the other side, probably. Perhaps to send a message to those that opposed them, but it was ill-informed. The muggles wouldn’t see a thing, not with the wards in place. The Wall was a symbol more than it was necessary. 

He stood back for a small crowd of green-robed wizards heading for the crowds. Finally, the aurors had arrived. They’d be ready to make arrests. 

Gellert turned up the collar of his coat and quickened his pace, wanting to be far ahead of those that dispersed. 

Leaving wizarding Berlin was more difficult than arriving. Aurors were watching the usual exits in their attempt to keep the peace and ensure no one else left with ideas of confronting the muggles outside their little barrier with impossible parlour tricks. 

Gellert slipped in with the other bystanders making their way out, and it was easy enough to avoid notice. After a certain point, the aurors simply wanted everyone to disperse safely.

Back on the muggle streets stood a throng of policemen dressed in German garb—wizards playing the part, who ushered those from the crowd along and away from the scene. Gellert went with them for as long as he could, until they began to disperse into alcoves to apparate away. 

Back to safety they all went. The security of their homes in the countryside, all sectioned off, more or less, in little wizarding villages, or blocks of the city hidden from prying muggle eyes. Everywhere they went—hiding. 

Gellert, too. For now. He walked along the muggle streets with his disguise, passing the dwindling numbers of wizards and muggles alike, and no one was the wiser that he’d ever been there at all. His followers would consider this night a success. Their opposition had been vocal and intrusive, but Gellert had expected nothing less. They had expected nothing less, either. These witches and wizards weren’t oblivious, and neither was their opposition. 

This would happen again. Probably not long from now. It remained to be seen whether the rallies would have any effect on the Ministry, or Grindelwald’s status as a wanted man, but it would count for something. Nominations by the will of the people always counted for something. 

Slush splashed underfoot as he made his way back to his side of the city, disillusioning himself when he was far enough away from the wizarding streets where aurors would be watching if they could spread their numbers that thin. 

The sun had descended and darkness had well fallen by then. Muggle pedestrians were few, but present, and the city had a chill to it that seemed to seep into more than Gellert’s skin. The stone facades of the flats he passed glistened with ice and patches of snow, turning their walls into harsh looking exteriors. Cold and unwelcome from the outside as they were, warm lights from within dotted their stories above the walkway and gave a strange sense of comfort where there should have been none. 

Strange that Gellert should find comfort in such an environment—they were all muggles, unless there were any wizards in hiding here such as himself. He certainly didn’t fear muggles, nor the statute of secrecy. That was one of his fondest wishes—soon. Gellert had never liked hiding, and he would have liked to walk these streets as himself. No invisibility charms or transfigured features. He never liked leaving his own face behind for very long. Not even when he’d worn Percival’s—and Percival had such a nice face. 

He smiled to himself as he walked, taking the time to let the march and all the things he’d seen there settle into his mind. Or so he intended. The two wizards waiting for him to return distracted his thoughts, but it was a comfortable distraction. 

Credence would be worried. The boy didn’t know what marches were for, not in any real capacity, and he didn’t know what they were like. Nothing like the excursions Mary Lou had led her children out into the street for, but Credence was probably imagining it similarly. Gellert knew the boy had memories of being surrounded by the passing crowds of New York, trying to hand out his papers. Sometimes ignored, sometimes spat upon. He knew Credence had been told to speak up, to raise his voice and spread the word of God, but the times he’d tried had only ended badly for him—with embarrassment and censure, and Credence rarely ever wanted to speak or put himself in front of groups of people ever again.

Gellert wondered what imagined scenes of the rally he’d be treated to when he looked into the boy’s mind tonight. Credence was going to be hanging on his every word all night, he was sure. Percival would be, too, even if the man didn’t want to admit it. 

Percival was dying for news of the outside world. The march hadn’t threatened him. He knew already from the papers that the witches and wizards of Berlin were heavily split in their support or opposition to Grindelwald’s proposed ideas for wizarding society, and Percival had surely seen rallies before. In his work as Director of Magical Security, it was almost a certainty. But Percival wasn’t afraid the tides were turning in Gellert’s favour too far yet. His fears lay mostly in Gellert, himself, and the fanatical followers he sent out for his own personal agenda. Percival feared Gellert and his ‘regime’, but not the ordinary people who chose to follow. Not yet. There were few of them in America, and Percival hadn’t spent much time in Europe since Gellert had begun his campaign. 

A muggle couple leaning into one another passed Gellert on the street, entirely oblivious to his presence. He watched them, the way their chins dipped into their scarves and they rubbed their noses every so often and held each other close to keep warm. 

Oblivious. They all were. Wizardkind went to such lengths to make certain of it. 

When Gellert entered the flat and let his features shift back into place, he was greeted by the quick patter of footfalls down the hall and a bundle of Credence wrapping himself around his waist. 

It was so out of the ordinary for the boy that Gellert laughed. He hadn’t even had time to take off his coat or his gloves. 

“Someone’s missed me, haven’t they?” He smiled down at the boy and worked one hand out of his glove to press it to Credence’s cheek. 

Credence winced, but not in pain. “Your hands are cold.” 

The boy’s voice was still soft, but so brazen now. Such a quiet affront, as though Credence had expected anything else from a man who’d been out in the streets all night. 

“Then you’ll have to warm me up, won’t you?” He winked at the boy and pried Credence’s arms from around his waist so that he could begin to remove the outer layers of his clothing. 

Credence huffed softly, but his eyes darted away from Gellert’s to the middle distance, still shy about receiving innuendos outside of the bedroom. 

Especially when Percival was around the corner in the other room. 

Once Gellert hung his coat up and let the warmth begin to sink back into his flesh, he placed a hand at Credence’s shoulder and drew him into the living room. Sure enough, there waited Percival, sitting at the couch with one leg crossed over the other and looking out the window. He could have pretended he hadn’t been in that position all night, watching for any glimpses he could catch of figures on the street who may be wizards. But even if he’d tried to pound at the window, he wouldn’t have been able to get their attention. Signs of that longing, then, for society. 

Credence tugged lightly at Gellert’s sleeve. When Gellert looked down and raised a brow, the boy still didn’t speak right away. He was going to get lazy this way, or too withdrawn from others if he expected Gellert to keep reading his thoughts. Not that Gellert was going to stop reading his thoughts. 

When Gellert didn’t do it for him, Credence finally spoke up. “Did it go well? Was everything okay?” Credence didn’t let go of his sleeve. His nimble little fingers wrapped themselves in the fabric and hung on with all the trepidation visible in Credence’s eyes. 

Gellert smiled in reassurance. “It did.” He bent and scooped the boy up in his arms, so that Credence could be held and comforted. This had been the first time Gellert was out among the public in a capacity specifically threatening to him, and he knew that was why Credence was worried. Credence, again, was remembering New York, even though he’d not been corporeal enough to witness Gellert’s capture. The boy was going to have to get used to this, but Credence was stronger than he seemed at the moment. They both knew it. He simply…didn’t feel that way unless he was forced to. 

“Chaotic, at best, but no one was grievously injured, and for the most part the event was civil.” Gellert traced Credence’s brow with a finger as he spoke, watching the boy calm by degrees. 

He had Percival’s attention now. The man didn’t need to speak up for him to feel it. 

“Aurors swept the crowd in the end. There have probably been arrests, but only for minor skirmishes, nothing we need to worry about,” Gellert clarified for the former Director’s sake. 

“As though we would be worried about that?” Percival asked, but there was no bite to his words. Instead, something closer to humour rested there. 

Gellert tsked. “Credence worried for me. Not you, I see.”

Percival snorted and uncrossed his legs, going along with the humour this time. “I just don’t show it very well.” He leaned back and raised his brows at Gellert in a motion Gellert recognised as his own, not Percival’s. Not that Percival couldn’t relax when he wanted to. And Gellert did miss seeing those moments. 

Gellert turned to Credence. “Is this true? Was he really?” He lifted the boy higher for a more conspiratorial distance between them. 

For a second, Credence was thrown. Not often, if ever, had Percival gone along with Gellert’s teasing back and forth. 

Credence’s mouth thinned into a line and he glanced from Percival back to Gellert. “No.” 

A laugh burst from Gellert’s chest. “Not willing to lie to me, hm? I appreciate the thought.” He should have expected that. Credence rarely joked—he rarely even smiled, and he certainly wouldn’t participate in making fun of Gellert now. The only times Gellert had ever seen the boy come close were when he was relaxed completely, loose and lethargic laying between Gellert’s body and the sheets. Credence would smile there. Gellert could coax it out of him. He could coax Credence into relaxing with his limbs splayed out, warm and exhausted and for the very first time not self-conscious of his body and the space he took up. Not even when Gellert trailed his eyes, or his fingertips, up the boy’s thighs. 

Credence blushed, and Gellert wasn’t sure whether his thoughts were showing on his face or whether Credence was simply embarrassed over not following along with the humour as the other two men had. 

“So no one recognised you?” Credence asked, not totally done yet with his questions. He’d been curious all night, Gellert saw with a glimpse into his mind, sitting up on the couch and watching out the window with Percival. Percival had tried to tell Credence about the kinds of rallies he’d seen back in America. Mostly muggle ones. Credence had been there for some of them, but of course Mary Lou had locked him and the other children away. He’d only ever heard about them before or after the fact, and he wanted to hear it from Gellert’s own mouth now. 

“No one recognised me. No one even expected me there.” Gellert walked them over to the couch and sat down beside Percival. It felt comfortable tonight, with tensions between them focused on something outside of themselves and not immediately threatening. Even though Percival couldn’t be happy at where this might lead in the future. “It was all quite exciting, really.” 

Gellert pulled his wand from its holster and raised it to his temple while Credence looked on. The boy’s eyes widened when he twisted it gently and drew a silvery substance from the side of his head. 

Even Percival’s attention was on him now as Gellert drew the memory out and spun it like silk around the tip of his wand. With a swirl of his wrist and a whispered word, it pooled into the centre of the living room without the aid of a pensieve. Credence drew in a breath as a snow covered kerb sprawled out across the floor and the brickwork of buildings popped up alongside it. 

Gellert’s figure passed through the centre, slipping out of the muggle streets and into the wizarding ones as the crowd began to form. The scene played out like that and he let the two watch from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of the flat. 

Credence tucked his head beneath Gellert’s chin as he did so, his small body tense as he watched the figures in the street and heard the beating of the drums. For him it was all vaguely threatening, bordering on frightening. All those people—wizards, with their wands in the air and sparks flying. Credence would have been frightened of them even if he hadn’t been on the other end of a pack of wands before. People in mobs had always frightened him. 

Percival, on the other hand, watched with an auror’s eye, picking out ringleaders and the tone of the crowds, trying to determine numbers and sides and what kinds of people had been drawn to the streets that night, and, ultimately, how violent they might become in the end. 

Gellert moved time forward, showing them glimpses of the night rather than the whole. He didn’t have the time nor the inclination to watch it in its entirety. 

When the memory faded back into its silvery strand and drew back to Gellert, the room was silent. 

“You certainly have a following now, don’t you,” Percival mused. Gellert could tell that he’d been right—Percival had imagined it well enough. 

“No longer just ‘fanatics’, are they?” Their eyes met. That close, sitting on the couch, it was a rather intimate confrontation, until a sharp spike of emotion entered Credence’s mind. 

Gellert turned his attention to the boy, and Percival’s followed. 

“What’s wrong?” Gellert asked, and Credence’s face drew down in displeasure. 

Credence didn’t want to answer. It felt wrong in his head to compare the church to Gellert’s Revolution in any way, but that was what the people on the street had called them. _Fanatics. Freaks._

“Ahh,” Gellert hummed. “They did call you that, didn’t they?” He leaned back into the couch and settled his arms around Credence. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. The things people say like that, it doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t have any concept of what’s out there in the world, anyway. Your mother certainly didn’t, and nor did the people she preached to.” 

Gellert felt Credence nod against his chest. The boy glanced over at Percival, whose mind had gone quiet remembering the things he’d heard about the Second Salem church and its congregation. Even Percival had thought they’d all looked like raggedy crows in their dark and drab clothing when they stood on the steps of the Woolworth building. It wasn’t a proud recollection. 

“You’re not a freak, Credence,” Percival said quietly. “And you’re not a fanatic, either. You can make decisions for yourself.” 

Brown eyes glanced up at Gellert, locking again in that quiet confrontation before it passed and Percival’s attention fell back to Credence. Gratitude swelled within Credence for both of their comforts, and he reached out with one small hand for Percival. 

The man hesitated, and Credence’s fingers fell to the threads of the couch, curling in on themselves when he couldn’t reach any farther. But then Percival lifted his hand and clasped Credence’s, squeezing lightly. 

Gellert only smiled and watched.


	19. Chapter 19

The march left a lingering air of excitement over the flat for the next several days, even for Credence, who had been worried just as much as he’d been curious what a march, a _wizarding_ march, might look like. 

Gellert had been in good spirits afterwards, but he was gone longer than ever now, well into the night more often than not, and Credence missed him. For once, however, Gellert’s good mood stayed with Credence and he didn’t feel so lonely as he had before. 

And Credence had Mr. Graves there to keep him company, too. Mr. Graves, who had, miraculously, not changed his behaviour towards Credence since the confrontation with Gellert. The first day afterwards may have been a little awkward, but by the second, Mr. Graves allowed Credence to open his door for breakfast, and even invited him in for their usual conversations over books and what was going on in the world. Graves left the door and the invitation open for the rest of the day, and never mentioned anything out of the ordinary had happened between Gellert and himself.

He had, of course, no idea that Credence knew what had transpired in their conversation, nor the night prior to it, and Credence didn’t have any strong inclination to tell him and ruin everything. Even if Mr. Graves could somehow force himself to be alright with Credence knowing, Credence wasn’t so certain he would be able to look him in the eye if Graves knew that he knew. 

It did make sitting next to Mr. Graves on the small couch in his room or the living room after Gellert returned home slightly awkward in the sense that Credence became aware of every inch of space between them, knowing that Mr. Graves might also be just as aware of their closeness, or their distance. 

The silence about such things made Credence grateful he’d never had to deal with that where Gellert was concerned. With Gellert, there had been no guessing. No uncertainty. Gellert looked at him and knew what he wanted and didn’t hide that, and all that had left Credence to do was either accept and reciprocate the offer or deny him. 

With Mr. Graves, there was no offer to even address. 

Not mentioned to him, anyway, and Credence felt that if anyone should have a say in it, it should have been him. The prickle behind that thought felt like every little slight or injustice he’d ever felt towards Mary Lou or the other children: when Chastity kept things from him, not because he was too young—he was older than she was—but because he was lower than her in the little peking order Mary Lou had created. 

Credence didn’t like being left in the dark, even when it was uncomfortable to bring the truth to light. Still, it was hard to resent Mr. Graves. Not when the man settled in next to him and talked with him in soft tones, relaxed and comfortable with Credence. Mr. Graves rarely asked anything of him, either. Not since those first few weeks. Not since he realised that Credence wasn’t going to betray Gellert. 

Mr. Graves was, surprisingly, nice. And so Credence felt pangs of frustration when he thought about Mr. Graves leaving him in the dark, even though he knew why, but those pangs were as ephemeral as the seconds ticking on the old grandfather clock in the hall. More often, Credence found himself frustrated that he had to sit and pretend that he didn’t know anything. That everything between them all was normal. It made studying difficult. 

There were days he’d push the books aside and flop down on the couch beside Mr. Graves, unable to focus and unable to do anything about it. Months and months ago he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of making such a display—groaning and reacting to such frustrations outwardly, especially in such a puerile manner, but he’d gotten too comfortable in his surroundings. 

Mr. Graves would sigh and put down his own book, setting it aside to reach for the tea and the scones instead, thinking Credence just needed a break. 

When that happened three days in a row, Mr. Graves finally put his book down with a gravity that said he suspected they weren’t making much progress at all and that there was no point in continuing. 

Credence had let his book drop to the floor and curled up in a ball at the corner of the couch, ignoring the man, but he could see out of the corner of his eye when Mr. Graves leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, head turned just so to look at Credence. 

“What’s wrong?” Graves finally asked. 

Credence let out a sigh and stretched his legs. He was having one of those moments of frustration, sitting there and able to address nothing, but he didn’t exactly _want_ to address it, either, and that left him feeling even more frustrated. So, rather than curling into himself further, he stretched. The feeling felt like something trying to get out of him. 

“Credence?” Graves asked again, tone more insistent this time. 

Credence could tell he wasn’t worried, but Credence’s distraction was causing distraction for him in return, and as Graves often did, he demanded to know what was the matter. 

“I just…. Can’t think,” Credence mumbled into the cushion. He wondered what Mr. Graves was thinking now, whether he was annoyed with Credence’s inattentiveness or whether he still thought inappropriate things when they were together. Credence was lying face down, and since he was so short, he was able to stretch out over most of the couch and manage not to kick Mr. Graves in the process. 

Gellert liked it when Credence laid on his stomach and wiggled his hips or raised his bum in the air. He’d felt silly the first time he’d done it, with Gellert’s encouragement, but only a few seconds of such motions had Gellert crawling up behind him and laying atop him, body pressing insistently against his own in a most secure and pleasurable manner. 

Credence wondered now if Mr. Graves had similar opinions when looking at Credence in such a position, even if he wasn’t using it to tease. 

The thought eased some of the frustration. Replaced it with curiosity. Credence glanced back at Mr. Graves and found the man’s eyes still on him, brows drawn together ever so slightly. Trying to puzzle Credence out. 

So Credence laid still and looked back. 

Mr. Graves let out a smooth sigh and settled back against the couch. His knees spread wide apart naturally, like he sat like that without thinking, and he looked a little tired, but… also not. He looked like he was holding a lot inside. Or maybe Credence thought so because he knew that was the case already. 

Sure, Mr. Graves probably still thought about the chains on his wrists and the doors locked to him around the flat, but Credence didn’t think he was contemplating those things now. In fact, Credence was pretty sure that Mr. Graves only let himself think about such things when he was alone or upset at Gellert. But still he looked contemplative about something. 

There were times Credence would have given anything to have Gellert’s gift of mind-reading. He wondered if it was something all wizards could learn. If it was, that still didn’t give him much hope. Credence still hadn’t made much progress on proper spells and incantations in spite of his raw magic building little by little in strength. He despaired at the thought that enchantments like that would be forever beyond his reach. He would have given a lot to hear Mr. Graves’ thoughts in that moment. 

Credence didn’t know how to ask with words. Gellert had suggested things, things that seemed wildly out of Credence’s capability, to get Mr. Graves to open up, but Credence didn’t know how to do that. He didn’t know how to lure anyone into anything, especially not a man like Mr. Graves. 

Credence’s lips drew tight. He reached out, drawing a little closer, and searched for Mr. Graves’ arm. 

Dark eyes watched him curiously as he went, and when Credence’s fingers clasped around Mr. Graves’ forearm, the man let Credence take it, pulling it up so that he could reach Graves’ hand and twine their fingers together like he’d done the night of the march. 

That felt nice. And Credence knew it was an action Mr. Graves wouldn’t reject. It was innocent, something they’d already done that had been pleasant at the time, but it wasn’t incidental, either. Credence didn’t exactly know what he was ‘saying’ with the action, but he felt like he was asking something. Asking for Mr. Graves to just… admit what Gellert showed him. 

Mr. Graves opened his mouth and then closed it. For a split second he looked like he was going to ask Credence what he was doing, and then in the next he looked like he knew. “Credence….”

Instantly, Credence felt uncertain. Had this been too much? Had he crossed a line? Was Mr. Graves about to bring everything out into the open just to tell him off? Or tell him off without even any further context? Credence wanted to draw his hand away, wanted to bite his lip and curl up again, or leave and go into the living room. Except that he didn’t want to do any of those things, either. He wanted to stay, and he didn’t want to feel ashamed, not when he knew how Mr. Graves felt. 

And then that creeping frustration found its way back into his chest. Credence didn’t want to feel ashamed, so he glared. 

Mr. Graves blinked, taken aback. But after another moment passed, he collected himself again, narrowing his eyes back at Credence like he was trying to puzzle him out. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” was all Credence could think to say. It wasn’t the truth, but he wanted to say _something_. He wanted to retaliate, and always did so with silence. It sounded slightly petulant, but to Credence’s mind, he was addressing what Mr. Graves wouldn’t. 

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t let go of Credence’s hand. “If you wanted to hold hands, that’s alright.” He tried for a small smile, but it was awkward. Not unkind, just, awkward. 

Credence sat up, suddenly even more frustrated. He pulled his hand away only to crawl directly in front of Mr. Graves, planting himself in the man’s lap and staring up at him. Credence only dared do it because the motion felt familiar, practised with Gellert so often. Whenever the man sat down and wasn’t busy, whenever Credence wanted to get comfortable and feel his arms around him, he’d crawl up into Gellert’s lap without even having to ask. Credence knew he was crossing a boundary here, but he didn’t care. It only frustrated Credence more when he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So he set his jaw and tried not to let the fluttering in his stomach tell him this was a bad idea. 

Mr. Graves was startled, to say the least. His eyes went wide and his hands went to Credence’s sides as though Credence might fall. As though Credence hadn’t done this dozens of times. 

When Mr. Graves didn’t relax, Credence didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to get this man to talk, or admit anything, or even act like he had any feelings for Credence whatsoever. It was annoying and it made Credence’s insides twist with shame after having crawled over him like this, and he couldn’t figure out which feeling was going to dominate the other. 

Finally, Credence ducked his head and fell forward, not wanting to be looked at with those furrowed brows and soft eyes anymore. Planting his face in the crook of Graves’ neck felt familiar. He knew maybe that would be unwelcome, but he kept his hands down and to himself and hoped maybe that would make up for it a bit. 

Credence wanted it to be that easy. He wanted to just lean in like this and feel as close as he’d felt in those alleys of New York, when Graves had been…well, Mr. Graves had been Gellert. But he’d smelled like this Graves and he’d put on this man’s face and his persona. Some of his persona. Credence was sure that Gellert had dropped the act around him more often than not since Credence didn’t know the real Graves, although he’d remained as serious as the real one throughout their encounters. 

As he was recollecting those moments, Mr. Graves—the man he was leaning on—sighed softly. But it didn’t sound like displeasure. If Credence had to think of a word, it sounded more like…acceptance. 

A hand laid upon his back and then rubbed gently over his spine. 

“Credence….” This time when Mr. Graves spoke, it was tinged with some emotion Credence wasn’t sure of. It sounded kind of like how Credence often felt. Something quiet, but something raw. Something he knew he couldn’t do, but maybe…maybe still wanted. 

For the first time, Credence realised that their positions were flipped. He hadn’t meant to, but he was leading this. Whatever this was. He swallowed. 

“Do you really like me, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked, no more than a whisper. 

The hand at his back stilled. Graves exhaled. Silence stretched for another minute. 

“I do. I….” Graves stopped talking. 

Credence had the impression that he was about to make some kind of apology or try to explain it. Neither of which Credence wanted. 

“This isn’t very convenient for you, is it?” Graves asked instead. 

That was a strange question. Convenient hadn’t been the word Graves had used when discussing this with Gellert. Those words had held much harsher connotations. So Credence pulled back, just enough to look at the man, to try to see what he meant. 

“It’s not inconvenient for me,” was all Credence could think to answer. 

Graves shook his head. “Here we are, the two of us. You might not feel like a prisoner here anymore. You might want to be here, but.” Graves shrugged. “I don’t want to use you the way he does, Credence.” 

Credence’s eyes narrowed. Frustration won over. Not only frustration, but anger. “I’m not being _used_ , Mr. Graves,” he said quietly, but there was no uncertainty in his tone any longer. 

Credence laid his hands on Graves’ chest, feeling the hardness of flesh and bone beneath soft fabric, feeling the beating of his heart and the warmth of a living human being. When Credence was that close with Gellert, feeling all those things, it came with a certain feeling of intimacy. Credence held Graves’ eyes as his fingers moved up the man’s chest. 

The sound of the chain preceded Graves’ hand around his wrist. 

Credence let out a breath, freezing where he sat. Graves’ eyes moved from his down to their hands—Credence’s still on his chest, Graves’ hand still wrapped around Credence’s. When he looked up again, Credence saw that Graves’ eyes were looking at him all over now, from his waist to his slim shoulders to his neck to his mouth, where they rested. 

Credence’s lips parted, sensing a change before Graves acted. He leaned forward, catching Credence by surprise even though he did not move any faster than normal, and pressed his mouth the corner of Credence’s. There he paused, assessing the action, maybe assessing Credence’s reaction. 

Credence didn’t know how to react at first. Not when Graves stopped and so clearly was evaluating that soft kiss. But something that felt quiet and hopeful bubbled up in Credence’s chest all at once and he turned his head to find Graves’ mouth again, this time searching out a real kiss. Because Credence knew what kissing was like now. Credence knew how to act and how to react to it. Rarely did he lead unless Gellert was laying lethargic in bed after they’d already gone a round, but he recognised he had to now. Just to show Mr. Graves that he wasn’t the delicate glass figure his language construed Credence to be. 

Mr. Graves didn’t kiss like Gellert, but his mouth—the shape of it and the light rasp of stubble—felt familiar. It was an odd experience, kissing this man for the first time when Credence had kissed his lips already a dozen times. And fantasised about it for longer. 

He wondered how long Graves had wanted to kiss him in return. Or Gellert, for that matter. Was this anything like the way their past encounters started? 

Credence’s hands rose and clutched in the material of Graves’ shirt when the kiss continued. He was surprised by the sudden fervour of it. When he initiated it again, Graves pushed back, delved deeper, drinking from Credence’s mouth like he’d waited so long for it, and Credence found his head spinning. Strong fingers gripped the back of his hair and held him firmly still. 

He hadn’t expected that. Graves was always so gentle with him, even when he was insistent. He rarely touched Credence. Or their touches were often incidental. But now he held Credence in place and took over the kiss like he knew exactly what he was doing and had been waiting for it all along. 

When they broke apart, Credence gasped. His heart was racing, but not with fear. Surprise, maybe. A little thrill, but not real fear. Credence didn’t like real fear, and he liked this. He searched Graves’ eyes, now staring fixedly back at him. Looking for a reaction, Credence realised. 

Credence blinked. If Graves thought that had been too much, he wasn’t going to get any signs of it from Credence. It hadn’t been. Credence squirmed on the man’s lap, aware that the beating of his heart wasn’t slowing down any time soon and that his fists were still wrapped in Graves’ collar. He wasn’t sure where he wanted this to go, but his wriggling usually did something for the situation when he was with Gellert, and so he tested it on Graves. 

Only to feel the fingers in his hair grip harder, forcing him to a standstill. Graves turned, pressing his face to Credence’s cheek, his eyes shut tight. 

“ _Credence_.” The word came out as a hiss. Pained, but a pain Credence recognised. Pain that sounded like it came from _wanting_. Wanting too much. Wanting something he shouldn’t have. Credence knew that pain all too well. 

“It…it’s okay, Mr. Graves,” Credence whispered back. He remembered himself behind bakeries, insides yearning for something more than Ma’s bland soup and stale bread, or when Gellert—then Graves—cornered him and gave him soft words of comfort. “Really. I’m okay.” 

That was what Graves was worried about. Credence’s well-being. Credence couldn’t help but wonder if the man was conflating that with his own well-being, and Graves was just choosing to focus on his instead. If he was, it was a poor decision, and even Credence could see that. Credence was better off in that flat than Graves was. 

The grip in his hair loosened, and Graves’ other hand drew up to cup his face and look at him. 

Credence didn’t wait for him to talk that time. He knew he didn’t want to hear it. So he leaned in and tried for another kiss, and to his satisfaction, Graves relented. 

Graves didn’t let him move very much, none of the grinding, wiggling that Gellert liked that felt so good when Credence was flush against the man’s stomach and had his legs open, but Graves did let their kisses go on for quite a long time before he asked Credence if he wouldn’t mind fetching them some water. 

Credence obliged, but when he returned he found Graves with his eyes closed, still sitting on the couch, but looking very much like he was trying to cool down. Credence paused and watched Graves’ chest rising and falling, forcing his breath slower, for a moment before he announced his presence. 

Graves seemed calmer after that. He took the glass of water from Credence’s hand with a soft thanks and drank deeply, then, as Credence took his seat again, suggested they get back to the day’s reading. Graves was already picking up his book before Credence could protest. 

Although Credence would have liked to continue, he knew he shouldn’t argue. Not when Mr. Graves had already given him what he’d been looking for, and more. So Credence settled in beside him, close enough to lean against him, and picked up his own book, too. Graves didn’t put his arm around Credence or invite him back into his lap, but the press between their bodies was comfortable, and he was a solid and warm presence for Credence to lean on. 

That night when Gellert returned home, his eyes held Credence’s as soon as they met and Credence knew that he knew. 

It was difficult not to feel unsure, but then after Gellert removed his outer clothes and scooped Credence up into his arms as he always did, smiling and greeting him with kisses and affection, the weight of guilt lifted from Credence’s mind. 

Gellert said nothing over dinner. Not even when Graves joined them, free of the chain and considerably quieter with just his cuffs. Graves didn’t say anything, either. They all ate amiably, if quietly that night, and Credence wondered if what had happened would be left unsaid between them forever. 

That night after Gellert sent Graves back to his room and took Credence to bed, he didn’t initiate more than a comfortable embrace. They readied for sleep and Gellert folded Credence up in his arms as the blanket curled around them of its own free will, with Gellert smelling sweet from mouthwash and smoky, with a hint of burnt cedar, from something he’d been doing out in the fields that day. 

Gellert nuzzled into Credence’s hair and closed his eyes. Credence could see them in a mirror opposite the bed. How comfortable and contented he looked wrapped in Gellert’s arms was a strange sight to get used to, but a pleasant one. 

“He kissed me today,” Credence announced, voice small in the quiet room, but wanting to start this conversation on his own. He didn’t want to give Gellert the impression it needed to be pulled from him. “Or I kissed him. I’m not sure which.” 

Gellert smiled into Credence’s hair. “Our guest is finally letting go of his inhibitions and appreciating your company, hm?” Gellert sounded pleased, and faintly amused. Credence couldn’t help but wonder just how surprised he was, if at all. 

“I suppose so. But, that was all that happened.” Credence felt he should make sure Gellert knew. Gellert hadn’t been there, and now that Credence looked back on it, he thought maybe he should have waited until Gellert was. Except that was silly. Gellert had all but invited him to seduce Graves if he felt up to the task. Still, Credence thought that invitation might not extend to more _intimate_ acts beyond kissing. And the more he thought about it, the more it was hard to understand why Gellert didn’t mind. Especially if he wasn’t there. 

“Oh, Credence,” Gellert squeezed his arm, “hush those thoughts. You needn’t worry over me. You did absolutely nothing wrong, and I’ll make sure you know it.” He kissed Credence’s cheek, whiskers tickling his skin and banishing Credence’s apprehension to the back of his mind. 

Credence decided that Gellert’s reassurances were comforting, and he wasn’t sure how many more he’d need. He wasn’t even sure how far this…thing, with Mr. Graves would go. Credence liked the other man. He would not turn down the opportunity to have him close should it arise, but if it didn’t go any further than this…Credence wasn’t sure he’d mind. 

For once in his life, he wasn’t desperate for affection. For once in his life, he didn’t need to be. He already had it. 

Credence turned to look at Gellert, wanting to see him close, not the mirror. When Gellert looked at him curiously, Credence swallowed, trying to gather his feelings into words. 

“Thank you. For bringing me here,” he said quietly. “For taking me with you.” 

Very slowly, Gellert tilted his head, studying Credence. Not like the way Mr. Graves had studied him earlier that day, this was less intrusive, done with less suspicion. Only curiosity. As though he hadn’t expected that. Gellert smiled, slow and warm. “I am glad to have you. Very glad.” There were no embellishments to his words beyond that. No kisses pressed to Credence’s cheeks or fingers, to roguish smiles or flashing teeth, only a quiet gratitude in return. 

Credence ducked his head and pressed his nose against Gellert’s collar bone, settling in for the night. It was a small miracle, that Gellert often slept half naked and Credence was able to press himself against bare skin, feel it in the strong arms that surrounded him, and Gellert encouraged him to do so as well. His fingers trailed Credence’s flesh at night when Gellert was in between sleep and waking. His palms found Credence’s softest parts and Credence, although at first embarrassed, grew to love the way Gellert sought to touch him even in slumber. 

Gellert shifted just so, lying back and letting Credence rest in the crook of his arms comfortably. Credence had never felt so relaxed as he did in that bed. He was small enough to fit into Gellert’s embrace easily, even if one of them moved during the night. When Credence closed his eyes, letting the dim view of the sheets and the man beside him filter through his lashes, he could have thought it all a dream. One of those fever dreams he’d had in his cold and isolated room at the church, where his mind conjured some truly fantastical story to give him everything he’d ever wanted. It wasn’t difficult believing this was all real when Gellert was in front of him, speaking to him, forcing Credence in this direction or that, only at times like this when Gellert was quiet. When his breathing turned steadier, deeper, and the powerful wizard finally succumbed to sleep. 

Credence didn’t stay awake much longer. Just enough to appreciate the rise and fall of the man’s chest and the strong beat of his heart thrumming under Credence’s cheek.

* * *

The next day, Gellert left a window open to the mirror in Percival’s room. 

At varying intervals he watched the man wake and receive breakfast from Gwendoline, Credence joining him when the boy had bathed and dressed for the day, the morning’s grogginess still evident in both their movements. Gellert had left for his work early that morning, but he did not regret it even though Credence woke up alone. He watched the boy wake from the vantage of the vanity, little more than pale limbs sticking out of the blanket and a few tufts of black hair, searching for Gellert blindly for a few minutes before realising he was alone. Credence stayed in bed after that, and the next time Gellert had a moment to glance at his pocket mirror, the boy had crawled out and was heading for the toilet. 

This was their routine, although Gellert preferred to be home when Credence awoke, preferred to have breakfast in the flat before he left and not leave the boy feeling quite so alone. But today he suspected that Credence would not feel so alone after the initial disappointment of finding Gellert gone. 

Most of the day went on as normal, but by the time the sun was beginning to set, Gellert turned back to his mirror and saw that he’d not been wrong. Credence hadn’t left Percival’s room. They’d attempted to study throughout the day, but by that point, the books ended up on the floor and Percival had the boy pushed up against the corner of the couch, exploring his mouth with fervour. 

Percival’s claim that he would not act on his desires for the boy had proved false, it appeared. Just as Gellert suspected it would. 

He allowed the pair roughly a quarter hour more of this activity while he made his excuses to Thaddeus and left the meeting hall, headed back for the flat. Gellert kept his movements unhurried even knowing the scene that was playing out inside of the mirror in his pocket. He was still careful not to apparate too close, still careful to disillusion himself and not rush through the sidewalks full of muggle pedestrians in his excitement. 

The moment Gellert opened the front door, Percival’s voice—a long and low moan—died in his throat. The door swung shut behind him with similar finality. Without having to see them, Gellert knew the pair in the room at the end of the hall had frozen. He wondered, as he removed his coat and hat, in what disarray he might find them given the last five minutes since he’d looked. 

Gellert trailed his fingers along the wall as he strode towards the cracked door of Percival’s room, knowing his every footstep drove the man’s heart faster. Credence, too, for the poor boy was surely still caught up in his fears to feel confident enough that Gellert wouldn’t punish him the moment he stepped through that door. 

As smile drew across his mouth as he reached out and pushed it aside with a creak, revealing the figure of a man and a boy upon the couch, in varying states of undress. 

Credence’s shirt was half open, still in his socks, but he was leaning back into the couch, his legs in the air and set around Percival’s waist. And Percival, dear Percival, was still looming over the boy, one leg planted firmly on the floor for support, weight balanced at the other end with a hand on the back of the couch. His eyes were wide and fixed on Gellert the moment he stepped inside. Gellert could almost smell his fear, cloying and sweet, and everything about this situation stirred anticipation deep inside him. 

The sound of Percival’s chain slithering free of his cuffs and falling to the floor broke the silence. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Gellert said softly. “But why don’t we continue this someplace more comfortable?” 

He felt the click of comprehension dawn inside Percival and watched as the man’s eyes shifted a tiny bit wider. A different kind of apprehension overcame him, and Gellert knew the moment he felt it that Percival would not be able to refuse. Credence, meanwhile, understood just as well, but his reaction was not one of fear. The fear in his veins began to fizzle into something else, something half uncertainty, half…excitement. 

Gellert’s smile widened and he glanced at the boy, eyes flashing with approval. He felt Credence soak it up immediately, a wash of relief coming over the boy, and one that Percival could only catch from the outside. The glance that passed between Credence and Gellert sent a new spike of uncertainty into Percival’s stomach, and Gellert delighted in it. 

“Oh, Percy, you’re too easy.” 

That had Percival back on track. His jaw set and his eyes narrowed. Even the line of his shoulders turned rigid, as though he was expecting a fight, but Gellert headed it off before it could go any further, reaching out his hand, palm up, expecting Percival and Credence to follow. 

Credence’s eyes went from Gellert to Percival, half expecting him to move, half wondering whether he would. That seemed to bring Percival out of the haze of defensiveness, just a fraction. While he was distracted, Gellert curled his fingers and the cuffs around Percival’s wrists lifted, gently tugging him up. 

Percival went with the motion. It was all he could do, although he was none too happy about it. Once he was on his feet, however, Gellert let the hold drop and returned Percival’s arms to himself. He lifted his chin and stepped into the room, advancing on Percival who stood stock still, waiting for Gellert with apprehension and anger and, the nearer Gellert came without open hostility, a prickle of more pleasant memories. 

Gellert stopped just within Percival’s space. They stood eye to eye, Gellert’s searching Percival’s as though he needed that contact to read him. Really he just liked the way the man mirrored the action, looking back and following Gellert’s eyes wherever they went. 

Behind them, Credence slid off the couch, his feet landing softly on the floor, and Gellert offered him another small smile. “ _Come_ ,” he told Percival. 

Credence followed when Gellert stepped away, but his eyes lingered on Percival, hopeful and anxious. Gellert wasn’t sure who it was that drew Percival forward in the end, but he stepped around the table, leaving the books strewn around it, and followed Credence and Gellert to Gellert’s room. 

Percival had never been inside it. He’d glanced in many times. It was no mystery to him, but he stayed out of it when Gellert was home and Percival was free of his chain. He’d never been explicitly invited, but he’d never been explicitly banned, either, and Gellert could feel the anxiousness within him rise as he led Percival across the threshold. 

Gellert slipped off his shoes and fell back onto the mattress while Percival glanced around, doing his best to ignore what was in front of him for a few seconds more. But Credence went straight to Gellert when he sat up and opened his arms to receive the boy. 

Credence tucked his head under Gellert’s chin and absorbed the warmth of the embrace, letting it reassure him that he really hadn’t done anything wrong before Gellert released him and turned his attention back to Percival. Their eyes met and Gellert could still feel the roiling apprehension holding him back, so he turned to Credence and patted the bed beside him. “I think Percival needs an invitation.” 

Obediently, Credence let go of Gellert and crawled up on the bed beside him, turning around to face Percival, but not sure exactly what Gellert was referring to. 

Gellert swung his legs up on the bed and moved behind Credence, laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders and waiting. Idly he let the tip of one finger slide beneath Credence’s collar, feeling the heat of the flesh below and the prominent tendons of his neck. So very delicate. 

“Won’t you join us, Percy?” Gellert whispered, dipping to nibble at Credence’s ear. He felt the boy squirm the moment Percival’s eyes fixed on the point between them where Gellert’s teeth and the tip of his tongue caressed the lobe. 

Gellert had taken Credence out of Percival’s arms, but he wasn’t taking him away, and Percival understood the difference. He understood, too, that Gellert was offering more than just Credence with this little show. Gellert made sure the way their eyes locked conveyed that. And he knew well how tempting he made the picture of himself and the boy. Percival remembered Gellert’s hands roaming over his neck the way they touched Credence’s now. Gellert knew what Percival had imagined that night, seeing the two of them together with his own body, recognising Gellert’s words and Gellert’s desires in the way he moved. 

Percival wanted to resist Gellert so much more this time, but it was even more difficult. And with Credence in the mix…. Credence, who’s mind was torn between the two of them, focused on Percival and fearful Percival would linger in indecision too long, but unable and unwilling to ignore Gellert, either. 

Percival swallowed. Something changed in his gaze, and Gellert felt the change in his mind. A self imposed calm slowed his breath and soothed the beating of his heart. He looked from Credence to Gellert and then took a step forward. Gellert lifted his head from Credence’s ear, smiling, and Percival took another step, drawing up to the bed where they sat. 

Credence was surprised when Percival lowered himself to their level, but Gellert was not. Percival placed one shackled hand on the bed beside Credence and the other beside Gellert with his eyes locked with Gellert’s all the while. It was submission, but not total. He leaned in, and Credence watched as Percival’s eyes closed and he met Gellert’s mouth, neither taking control at first. 

A reintroduction, it seemed. 

That was the way Percival’s mind felt, and Gellert had to admit it felt accurate. The man’s mouth was familiar, warm and rough around the edges where he hadn’t shaved, slow and exploratory. Gellert kissed him back without pulling any more than Percival was willing to let him, but he lifted a hand to the back of Percival’s head and let his fingers dig into the flesh there, knowing he would remember the feel of Gellert’s hands. 

Percival did. He shivered, sighing into the kiss before he could make up his mind to hold it in, and Gellert felt a renewed spike of lust wash through the other man, insidious and familiar. 

Credence, meanwhile, watched with wide eyes as they broke apart, and Gellert could not help turning his head to give the boy a knowing look. Percival followed, and Credence, having both their attention suddenly on him, didn’t know what to do. But then Percival leaned in again, this time towards him, and guided Credence into a kiss with a hand to the back of his head much like Gellert had done for him. 

Lingering uncertainty fled Credence while Percival kissed him, and although Percival’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, he was steady in action. Gellert’s fingers drew up to wind in the long hair at the back of his head, not painful and not to pull him away, but just to feel the motions Percival made and know that Gellert could direct the kiss from there if he wanted to. Gellert’s mouth curved, knowing both Credence and Percival would catch it out of the corner of their eyes. The two parted when Percival saw it, but Gellert’s fingers turned to a soothing massage against the back of his neck, reassuring Percival there was no need to worry. 

“Very good,” Gellert said softly. “Now come up here.” He scooted back and made room. 

Percival glanced to Credence and the open space on the bed before he made his final decision and climbed up. Credence went with easily, following Percival’s touch to his side and settling in between the both of them. He looked to Gellert for reassurance, unused to being the centre of two men’s attention when he was barely used to being at the centre of just Gellert’s. Gellert placed his palm on Credence’s shoulder and gave him a gentle kiss at the temple, and Credence relaxed into it immediately. That was all he needed. 

Percival looked on with quiet wonder. It was a look he often gave them, but there was something more to it now—a sense of hunger that was never overt before, only one Gellert had read in his most distant thoughts. But Percival was feeling it now, watching Credence lean back into Gellert and Gellert’s touch revitalising his confidence. Percival wanted to draw closer, but he hesitated, unsure exactly how this could work. 

Gellert settled back against the headboard and spread his knees so that Credence could sit between them. He drew the boy back in invitation, laying Credence down in his lap, eyes on Percival, and Percival got the message loud and clear. On his hands and knees, he advanced slowly while Gellert undid the rest of the buttons of Credence’s shirt, revealing the plush and pale flesh of his stomach. 

Credence drew in a breath when Gellert’s hands ran up his torso, holding him tight to Gellert’s lap as they massaged over his bare skin. By the time Percival joined them, looking down at Credence as though he wasn’t sure where to touch him first, Credence’s heart was pounding. 

Percival laid one hand over Credence’s hip, just above the thigh, and Credence’s lips parted. Gellert ducked his head down beside Credence’s ear. “That’s right,” he said, watching Percival all the while. “Gentle at first.” 

Percival’s eyes narrowed, glancing up at him, and Gellert smiled. Defiance was working its way back into Percival’s system, but not the sort that would make him back out of this. Gellert could provoke him like no one else. His hand gripped Credence’s thigh more firmly and his hesitation fled. Percival leaned in, eyes meeting Credence’s and a silent exchange passing between them—Percival still had to be sure he was okay—before he met the boy’s mouth. 

Gellert could see the shift in Percival’s shoulders as he bent, leaning well into Gellert’s space as much as Credence’s when Credence fell back. It was too tempting not to run his hands through Percival’s hair with him right there and Credence in between them. Percival didn’t seem to want to stop there, either. His kiss pressed Credence tight against Gellert’s chest, so tight that Percival had to plant a hand on the bed just to hold himself upright, and Gellert laughed, soft but deep. 

Percival didn’t want to let go. With Credence under him and Gellert’s hands rewarding him with small touches of affection, like he was petting an animal, it was too easy to sink into the sensations. Gellert could feel him fighting it, knowing those touches should feel demeaning, knowing Credence was pliant with him because the boy was comfortable with Gellert, too, knowing that Gellert wanted Percival back in his bed like he’d been before. 

Percival could go back to resisting. He’d done it this far, but he hadn’t felt this good in so long. Echoes of the things he used to tell himself back in his New York apartment prison resurfaced in his thoughts and Gellert heard every one of them—that this was alright because he still had his own mind, Gellert hadn’t swayed him over to his side, all this was physical and nothing more, and Percival was starved for it. But Percival’s mind shied away from the deeper questions. Questions about why Percival could feel so starved when Gellert showed him interest or he spied Credence’s longing looks from across the room when he had so rarely felt the need for intimacy otherwise. 

Percival had gone for years without another lover when he was free, and didn’t that just burn in the back of his mind. Gellert thrilled inside when he felt that thought. His fingers tightened in Percival’s hair, making sure he knew it. 

“Such a good boy, Percy,” Gellert whispered. 

Percival broke the kiss with Credence and glared up at him. “Shut up.” But he was already moving, tugged forward by Gellert’s hand, and Percival went with it until their mouths clashed together, kissing over Credence’s head. Gellert didn’t keep him for long. He took in Percival’s hunger and resistance, turning the kiss rough and nothing like what Percival had shared with Credence. Percival tried to push him back and trap him against the headboard, but Gellert held firm to Percival’s hair and with Credence still between them, Percival wasn’t willing to throw his weight into it. 

Gellert laughed into the kiss when he felt Credence’s reaction turn from awe to something quite stimulating. The sight of them vying for power flipped a switch in Credence’s mind the boy hadn’t even known was there, and it went straight to his cock. Gellert felt small fingers dig into the flesh of his arm just before Percival pulled back, unsure what had distracted him, until Percival felt Credence’s claws just as sharply. 

“I think he likes that,” Gellert breathed against Percival’s ear, pulling his head in close. 

Percival’s mind felt off balance again, part of him thrilling at Credence’s reaction—knowing that he wasn’t going to frighten the boy after all, even when he and Gellert fought, and another part of him was taken off guard that Credence had even _had_ such a reaction. 

“Mr. Graves….” Credence’s fingers pulled and Percival went with it, ready and willing to meet the boy’s demand as Credence brought him back down, Gellert chuckling all the while. He let go of Percival to put his hands on Credence instead, massaging his shoulders and sides as they kissed again, running his hands over everywhere Percival wasn’t touching. Percival kept his hand against Credence’s face, gentle and firm and so very different from what he’d shared with Gellert a second before. 

Credence was growing quickly overwhelmed between the two of them and he began to squirm. His attention was split between sensations between the man at his front and the one at his back. Gellert could feel him resisting the pull to sink into it and forget whose hands were whose. Credence wasn’t ready for that. But he was ready for more, even if he didn’t know it yet. 

Gellert’s fingers worked in between Percival’s chest and Credence’s hips, finding the fastenings of the boy’s trousers and undoing them. Much to his surprise, one of Percival’s hands joined his own and helped Gellert pull them down. 

Credence’s heart beat wildly at that. He hadn’t expected the men to work together, and the way they did only to remove his clothing unnerved him. Gellert nuzzled his ear when the thought passed between them and he gripped Credence’s arm in quiet reassurance. “It’s alright, nothing to worry over now. I’ve got you.” 

The last did the trick. Gellert was safe now in Credence’s mind, and all the boy needed to hear was that he was there still on Credence’s side. 

Percival could not hear Credence, but he gathered well enough that something had startled the boy and he lowered his head to place a kiss against Credence’s shoulder, trying to slow down, trying to reassure him. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Credence shook his head, embarrassed about them both trying to comfort him. His cheeks flushed and he tried to push the feeling aside, but Gellert took hold of his chin and turned Credence to look at him. 

“Don’t worry,” Gellert said again, giving the words weight enough to sink through Credence’s uncertainty and fixing Credence with a look that was all for him. 

Percival watched, uncertain what was happening between them until Credence nodded, holding Gellert’s gaze until the boy relaxed again and looked back to Percival. Gellert could tell Percival suspected some deeper message had just been conveyed between them in that moment, but he wasn’t privy to it. His eyes searched Credence, but Percival had never had the talent for legilimency like he did for occlumency, and Credence’s mind remained a mystery to him. Credence’s nod, however, conveyed that he wanted to continue quite well. 

Percival kept his gaze on the boy and pulled his trousers down the rest of the way. He was careful about it as he went, lifting Credence’s slim legs one after the other and pulling the material over his feet like he’d never done this before. Like every bit of Credence deserved the attention. 

Credence appreciated it. Gellert could feel It, the desire growing in Credence’s stomach again as he watched Percival peel away his clothes. Gellert kept his hands away this time, rubbing soothing motions into Credence’s shoulders and arms, providing comfort, but letting Percival take control of this part so as not to overwhelm Credence. There would be plenty of time for that later. 

When Credence was bare between the two of them, he flushed even deeper. Gellert felt his quiet mental plea for that to change. Credence wanted him just as naked. Credence wanted the comfort of his skin, the familiarity of it, and not the barrier between them. But Percival already had the right idea. He sat up and began removing his shirt, fingers flying through buttons he would have undone with magic had he been able to, his last lingering reservations quickly falling away. Gellert smirked at him, remembering this well, when Percival got up to pull off his trousers and underwear. Percival was forgetting Credence had never seen him naked. Technically, Credence had seen his body—been intimate with it, even, but Gellert knew this would have a new impact. 

He was right. Credence’s eyes wandered over every inch of newly bared flesh, and Gellert followed the gaze. Percival didn’t catch onto the way they were both staring at him until he looked up again and paused. Gellert’s smile grew wider, but Percival tried to pretend he hadn’t been taken aback for a second. He settled himself down in front of Credence again, letting the boy look him over, and tried to ignore the way Gellert was staring also. Percival wouldn’t have been able to had it only been the two of them, but now that he had Credence to focus on as well, the boy provided a great excuse to avoid Gellert’s stare. 

Slowly, Percival advanced on Credence again, leaning over him—not touching just yet, except to stroke a few strands of hair back from his forehead—and very aware of how very naked they both were. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Percival asked softly, head bent to Credence’s ear, words meant only for him even though there was no chance that Gellert wouldn’t hear it. 

“Yes.” Credence nodded without hesitation, but his reply came just as quietly. Credence was always clear with his words, no matter how soft they sounded. 

“Okay.” Percival stroked his fingers against Credence’s face before he leaned in again for a kiss, still not meeting Gellert’s eyes.

Percival understood how this would happen now, more or less. Understood that neither Credence nor Gellert would be his alone, but he was going to be with them all the same, even though that came with two very different dynamics. Gellert shifted and helped Credence lay back, let Percival gather the boy into his arms, but Gellert did not leave their side. He caught Percival’s cheek with his fingertips and Percival could ignore him no longer. The barest hint of pressure had Percival’s head turning and his mind turning back to Gellert when Gellert filled his vision. Gellert was teeth and bruises as they kissed, and Percival was pliant this time, letting Gellert move the way he wanted, apply the pressure he wanted, and use Percival as he wanted. 

Gellert drew his fingers down Percival’s spine, feeling the man shiver as he went and watching the way the shiver passed into Credence below him through their shared touch. 

“Just look at what I can do to you, Percy,” Gellert whispered, unable to resist. “Show me how much you want him,” he whispered into Percival’s ear. 

Percival let out a soft groan. That tone brought out the worst in him and Gellert knew it. Credence’s arms tightened around Percival’s neck, and Percival fell upon him with teeth and tongue, forgetting to resist, forgetting that he was trying to ignore Gellert, forgetting that he shouldn’t be doing this at all. He did not forget to be gentle, even when Credence squirmed and pressed back against him. 

From the start, Credence had fought Gellert in these intimate moments, not intending that fight to be intimate at the time, but that was how it had started, and ever since then Credence wasn’t often one to lay back and pliantly accept Gellert’s ministrations. Credence spoke in body language more often than words, and Percival discovered that quickly. The boy whined and pushed his slim hips up against Percival’s stomach, feeling the length of his cock trapped between them. It made Percival gasp and nearly fall, but he caught himself quickly and retook control as Gellert laughed softly beside them. 

Percival hadn’t known what to expect. Credence had never fought him. Credence had never even fallen into his arms, shivering with the strength it took to restrain himself from every movement he wanted so desperately to make. Restraint just to reach out and touch the way he allowed Gellert to touch him. That was the most Credence had been able to do back in those alleys even when he’d wanted so much more, but Percival had never been there. For the past few months, Credence had been learning to reach out, to ask for what he wanted and take it. 

Gellert watched as Credence’s fingers dug into Percival’s back, heedless of his nails, forgetful about such things in the moment. The boy whined through Percival’s kisses and the slow grinding of his hips. Gellert made him shiver again by running a hand over his flank, all the way down to the firm globe of his arse, but Percival was rewarded when Credence wrapped his legs around his hips and thrust back, seeking more friction. 

“He’s not going to break, you know,” Gellert told Percival, lifting himself up to pet the man’s hair. Percival was holding back, holding himself up just enough to keep the weight of his body from applying too much pressure, keeping his touches light enough to be gentle. 

“You want to treat him like glass, don’t you?” Gellert asked, fingers turning sharp against Percival’s scalp in a not very subtle suggestion. “That young man from the photograph in your file, now a young boy before you, you know what you _want_ to do to him, don’t you? But you still don’t think that you should. You still think he’ll break.” Gellert leaned very close to whisper into Percival’s ear. “I assure you, he will not.” 

Credence heard him just as well, and Gellert could all but feel the pounding of the boy’s heart as he took in those words. Credence knew they weren’t untrue, but he knew that in respect to Gellert. Percival Graves was not so familiar. Credence knew the man had wanted him and restrained himself, but Credence also remembered the sound of his fists upon the door the day he’d first arrived at the flat, knowing the enchantments keeping the sound muted were at their strongest and Credence had still heard them. Percival could inflict violence if he wanted to, and Credence knew it. Even knowing he could defend himself didn’t quite take away how his mind shied away from that notion. But Gellert could inflict just as much violence, reason reminded him. Credence had even seen it, in raw magical power although rarely with his fists the way Percival was forced to use them now. 

Familiarity was the difference. 

Gellert reached out and stroked his fingers through the boy’s hair, feeling him wrestle with the idea. Percival’s teeth were gritted now and his hands were wandering down Credence’s sides, wanting more and wanting to ignore Gellert again. The little tricks Gellert performed with magic to ease their coupling were not available to him, but Gellert reached out and took hold of Percival’s hand, whispering the spell for lubrication. It caught Percival off guard for a moment, but a sharp tinge of gratitude followed after and left Gellert feeling satisfied at Percival’s surprise. Their eyes met for a moment and Gellert knew Percival could see the mirth behind his gaze. 

Percival did not complain. He sat up and drew his hand down between himself and Credence, lips parted, completely taken with the way Credence’s knees fell open even wider for him, anticipating what was to come as soon as Credence spied the wetness at his fingertips. Credence knew Gellert had done it even though he’d missed the exchange. He could see it in the twinkle of Gellert’s eyes as he watched. 

When Percival drew his hand over Credence’s cock, caressing softly, firmly as he went, Credence lifted his hips without hesitation. Percival palmed the boy like that for a long minute, pleased to see the sensations wash through Credence in the way he rocked his hips against it, encouraging Percival to press down in slow circles and rub there harder. After a minute of this, Credence whimpered again, this time in slight frustration, finally comfortable enough to move on. 

Percival let out a long breath. Gellert felt him trying to rein himself in. The way Credence squirmed against him was giving Percival all sorts of ideas. Ideas about how the boy would look under him, writhing on his cock instead of his hand. As soon as they formed, he shied away from them on instinct, aware Gellert was reading him, but they returned just as quickly. 

“Don’t be chaste on my account, Percy. You know I like it when you’re not.” 

Percival didn’t respond, but his internal imagery did relax a little. He settled down over Credence and drew the slick down further, reaching between his thighs while Credence whined, anticipating what would come next. 

It had been a while since Percival had done this with anyone who wasn’t practised. Percival knew this was by no means Credence’s first time with a man, but that didn’t mean the boy was experienced. He spent a while running his fingers over the small, puckered opening between Credence’s legs while the boy got used to him there. 

Percival was right to take it slow. 

Credence was still getting used to him, mind and eyes fixed on him and then shifting to Gellert for a moment, reorienting himself and reassuring himself that Gellert was there before returning to Percival. But the longer Percival showed him care in these new activities between them, the more Credence relaxed. 

Gellert was pleased to see it. He knew just how rough Percival could be. How ready and willing, too. Coupling between the two men had been very different, but Gellert and Credence were worlds apart and watching Percival’s gentleness with his boy was quite…endearing. It brought a softness to Gellert’s smile. 

When Credence started squirming again, Percival applied pressure, and when the boy didn’t react negatively, finally, he sank the first finger inside him. 

Credence gave a soft sigh, again, appreciating the gentleness. He was getting used to Percival’s hands and Percival’s attention, but he was also quickly opening up. Credence liked the feeling of their attention on him, liked being in the middle of both of them when he was ready for it, and slowly but surely he was growing more so. 

Soon enough, Percival worked a second finger inside him with ease. Percival’s thoughts were filling again with visions of Credence writhing, hands fisted in the sheets and hips raised to meet his own, little legs wrapped around Percival’s back. Gellert could have laughed at the part of him deep in the back of his mind that reeled over having these thoughts about a child’s body. That little voice of social conscience lost quickly to the rest of Percival’s desires and Gellert could have kissed the man for it. 

If Percival had any idea that Gellert was thrilling over these little battles won in his mind, he kept it to himself, and it was second to the rest of his desires in the moment. He became engrossed in learning what kind of touch Credence liked best, searching with his fingers for the sweet spot inside the boy and rubbing there when Credence gasped and whined. 

It wasn’t long before Credence wanted more. Laying out like that under Percival’s gaze wasn’t easy on his instincts. It was no issue with Gellert when he was boneless and sated after their play, but it had taken many intimate moments between them for Gellert to get the boy comfortable with looking at him like that before he’d worn Credence down. 

Percival was attentive enough to sense the boy’s impatience. To sense that Credence wanted him close again when Credence twisted his hips and reached towards him. 

“Just a little longer,” Gellert soothed with strokes through Credence’s hair. It helped to turn his attention back to Gellert. When Gellert’s eyes were on him, Credence could do anything. He pushed his head back against Gellert’s hand, back against the mattress and arched his body up for Percival. Gellert chuckled. Credence reached for Percival again, little nails finding his thighs and digging in. 

Finally, Percival felt he’d worked the boy open enough. He pulled his fingers free and bent his head to place soft licks and kisses against Credence’s small, straining cock. Credence’s whimpering grew more insistent, so Gellert bent to take his mouth. Credence’s kiss was not chaste. Hungry, but not sloppy yet, the boy tried to keep Gellert there, wanting to kiss and be kissed while Percival sucked between his legs. Gellert could feel it whenever Percival did something right in the way Credence reacted, in the way he pushed back and sought Gellert’s tongue like it could give him the same pleasure. 

Gellert had to pull himself from the boy’s hands when it was time, leaving Credence flushed and breathing hard, looking from Gellert to Percival, who pulled off as well. 

Gellert’s attention followed, and he approached the other man with a glint in his eye. Gellert didn’t leave room for Percival to eye him warily for long. He moved into the man’s space, both of them up on their knees now, Gellert still clothed, and took the man’s head in one hand and the length of his cock in the other. 

Percival’s mouth dropped open. The shaft in Gellert’s hand stiffened, but the man’s spine curled towards him, melting in Gellert’s touch like he used to. 

“There’s my Percy.” 

Slowly, Gellert began to stroke. Their eyes fixed together, and with a breath and a word, Gellert’s fingers coated Percival with the same slick he’d used on his fingers. Percival’s eyes widened, and so did Gellert’s grin. He took his hand away and laid back down beside Credence, head propped up on one arm. 

Credence’s nails reminded Percival of the present. He settled down above him, letting Credence’s legs wrap around him again and lifting the boy’s hips up against his lap. Percival took a deep breath and rested the head of his cock against Credence’s pucker, letting Credence feel it, no idea that Gellert often did the same. Although Percival’s delay was meant to be sure that Credence was ready, Gellert’s was always meant to tease. Credence, familiar with such a motion, whined and writhed his hips, surprising Percival again. 

With another breath, Percival pushed inside. 

Credence’s eyes closed. His face scrunched up in slight pain, and Gellert stroked his hair. Gellert often eased the pressure of the first few thrusts with magic, but Percival had no such option here. He could have taken the pain away for Credence, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. And he wanted to see how Percival would react. 

“Just a little more,” Gellert whispered in Credence’s ear. 

Percival slowed as he sank in, but he didn’t stop. He leaned over Credence and touched the boy’s cheek, ignoring Gellert so close at Credence’s side. 

“It’s alright. Look at you. You’re doing so well,” Percival said to the boy, hating himself for the soft words. Words that had all been pulled from Gellert’s repertoire, but he wanted to make sure Credence knew he cared. He wanted to make sure Credence knew he appreciated what the boy was doing for him. He bent down to Credence’s other ear and let the boy breathe. “Just squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.” 

Percival wrapped one of Credence’s hands inside his own, letting the boy cling to him and hoping that Credence would do as he was told if needed. But Gellert could feel, just under the surface, a part of Percival that hoped Credence wouldn’t have to. That part of him wanted Credence open and under him and ready to take anything Percival gave him. 

That was the part of Percival Gellert had become well acquainted with during their heated moments together. That was the part he liked. 

But Credence nodded and breathed deep, relaxing as much as he could and letting Percival in deeper until finally, finally, he was sheathed inside the boy. 

Once Percival paused, even deep as he was, it was easier for Credence to move. Experimentally, he shifted his hips. It was just a little movement, but Percival closed his eyes, exhaling at the pressure of the boy’s muscles tight around him, and Credence let out a quiet sound. 

For the first few minutes, Percival’s thrusts were shallow. He laid down low over Credence, letting him adjust, and with another whispered spell from Gellert to ease the friction and the strain just a little bit more, Credence’s discomfort faded away. Soon enough, his legs hooked around Percival’s back and tried to pull him in and keep him there after every little thrust, and Percival noticed. His pace picked up. His thrusts grew deeper, little by little, until Credence’s lips were parted and he didn’t need to pull at Percival anymore to get what felt good. 

Blindly, Credence reached out to the side and fumbled for Gellert’s arm, knowing he was there and wanting something to hold onto. Something that was him. His touch, his words—anything. 

“I’m right here,” Gellert said softly. It wasn’t reassurance. Credence wasn’t uncertain now; he just wanted Gellert’s touch as well. 

Percival’s hands wrapped around Credence’s hips. With the man bent over him, Credence was barely visible at all, or would have been had Gellert been any farther back than he was. Percival panted into Credence’s hair on one side and let Gellert have the other. It was really quite considerate of him, and it warmed Gellert inside to think just how easily Percival accepted that it would be the three of them in Gellert’s bed like this. 

Percival’s plans on how to interact with both of them had been thoroughly dashed, but for the time being, he was right where Gellert wanted him. 

“He’s giving in so beautifully, isn’t he?” Gellert whispered into Credence’s ear, not quiet enough that Percival wouldn’t hear. “Just perfect like this, showing his love, unrestrained. You know what that’s like all too well, to live your life with such restriction.”

Credence closed his eyes and felt a full-body shudder, taking Gellert’s words deeper even than the very tangible way Percival was driving inside him. Percival’s arms came up to wrap around Credence, holding him steady, securely, because Percival hadn’t been immune to Gellert’s words either. 

“This is so much better, isn’t it?” Gellert asked. “Being free. Free of your own restraints.” 

Percival had heard these words before, but it had been so long. Months ago was the last time he’d taken any of them to heart. His gut reaction told him to push Gellert and his silver tongue away, but the traitorous part of him wanted to sink into it. That part of him thought Gellert was right, that this did feel so much better. Credence clung to him and held him like he wanted Percival without second thought. The way he pulled Percival down and held him close felt like Credence would be happy if only he went with it. And how his body yearned to comply, and _take_ at the very same time. 

Credence turned to look at Percival, and Gellert caught the sweetest thoughts in his mind—that Percival looked nearly in pain he was in so much pleasure, that he had resisted it for so long, but upon hearing Gellert’s words, Credence imagined he could see their effect on Percival. Credence thought he could see Percival’s will being bent in the deep furrow of his brow and the sweat on his temple, the way he grit his teeth and pressed his mouth tight, and the way that every thrust into Credence turned a little sharper, a little more insistent, than it had been before. 

Finally, Credence let go of Gellert’s arm and wound his around Percival’s neck. For a split second he feared what Percival could do if he really gave in to Gellert’s prodding—if Percival gave into desire completely and took Credence without regard. His noble self-control might be protecting Credence more than Credence knew. But at the same time, he couldn’t help the excitement twisting inside him at the prospect of these two men fighting, and of _Gellert_ winning. 

That was exactly what was happening. Credence was experiencing physically they way that Gellert was winning that battle with Percival. 

He wondered, distantly, if this was what magic was. As he tightened his arms around Percival, he wondered whether Gellert’s words had imbued Percival with that magic. He wondered whether Percival was now a manifestation of the shining light Credence sometimes saw when Gellert performed a spell, or the unseen but very physical force that moved objects at his command, whether that force was moving inside Percival now. 

Gellert laughed at his side, soft and sweet, to hear the thought. “Don’t you know me so well now.” He kissed Credence’s cheek, feeling far more affection for the boy than should be warranted. He took hold of one of Credence’s hands, extracting it from Percival’s neck and shifted closer so that Gellert could press it to his crotch and watch Credence’s eyelids flutter, realising he was caught between the desire of these two men. 

Credence’s mouth opened, a sound building deep within him as his legs tightened around Percival, spurring Percival on just as much as Gellert’s words had done. Credence’s climax came on with them surrounding him so thoroughly that he didn’t know who to focus on or how even to focus on either. He cried out with a whimper, clenching as much as his body could trapped under Percival and filled to his fullest. 

Percival began shaking when he felt it, caught between his own pleasure fast approaching its peak and his will not to hurt the boy. Percival’s panting breaths carried a low whine every time he thrust now, desperate for more, _harder, faster_. 

Gellert lifted himself up and pressed a hand over Percival’s back, feeling the straining of muscle and the sweat slicked heat of his skin. Percival wanted to take and take and his mind and body were fast becoming consumed with nothing else. He felt Gellert, but gave no reaction. Gellert’s touch was familiar somewhere in the back of his mind, and Gellert’s presence drove him to let go. 

When Gellert sank his teeth into the back of Percival’s neck, he did. 

Percival came with a shout and held Credence tight, his world engulfed by the small boy under him and the man at his back, pain and pleasure mixed in a way he didn’t think he’d feel again, especially not between these two people. Percival shuddered and tried to still himself, tried not to fall atop Credence and hurt the boy, but his body was a mess of nerves firing and Gellert had to help him onto his side. 

Leaning over him, Gellert placed a delicate kiss upon Percival’s cheek while Credence watched, dazedly taking in the sight of them. Gellert brushed his fingers along Percival’s jaw. The man was far too boneless now to do anything about it, so Gellert placed a kiss upon his shoulder as well, feeling the heavy rise and fall of Percival’s chest under his hand. 

With effort, Credence lifted himself up to better see them, wanting to join, wanting to be held again like Gellert was holding his Mr. Graves. 

Gellert turned fond eyes on the boy and ushered him closer. He gathered Credence in his arms, letting him spread himself out in Gellert’s lap, relaxed and sated now, although not as exhausted as Percival. It was just as well for Gellert. “Are you all done?” he asked against Credence’s ear, watching Percival’s eyes draw to them as the words caught his attention. “Or would you like another go?” Gellert knew his lips were curling at the corners. He could see it in Percival’s mind. The man was admiring the sight of them, Gellert himself still sharply dressed and the little naked boy in his lap who was leaving damp spots on his pressed trousers wherever Credence shifted. That was Percival’s doing, and that set the man’s mind alight to see it. 

Gellert reached beneath Credence and gently fingered the wetness between his legs. It was no secret he was reading Percival, but this time Percival’s mind rejoiced at the action following his thoughts rather than shying away from it. He liked seeing Credence like this too much. He liked seeing _Gellert_ like this too much. 

Credence let out a gasp. His legs shifted apart, rubbing himself against Gellert’s finger. 

“You didn’t…get off, did you?” Credence asked, pausing over the words in front of Percival, but the new presence didn’t stop him. 

“Not yet.” Gellert lifted his hips and placed one hand low on Credence’s stomach, pressing him back while he rubbed against the boy from behind. 

Credence’s hands searched behind himself for Gellert’s clothing, anything he could grab onto, and then began to worm those hands between their bodies. Gellert bent his head and laughed softly against Credence’s hair as he felt it—Credence searching to feel him, little hand delving between the ridge of his hip and the press of Credence’s own back. Down that narrow crevice between them it went, unable to work itself beneath the fabric of Gellert’s trousers, so Credence made do with pressing against him from the outside. 

Gellert drew in a deep breath when the boy’s hand cupped the girth of him. The sudden rise and fall of his chest gave Credence an opening to work his hand in just a little more and stroke just a little longer. Gellert wrapped his arms around Credence’s middle and let him continue—closing his eyes and ignoring Percival’s mind fixated on the sight of them—and just let himself feel it. 

He wanted more. It wasn’t soon enough before he lifted Credence up, just enough so that he could reach beneath his trousers and pull himself out. The material was already strained tight and the relief of the cool air was wonderful—before Credence sat back down and it brushed between his thighs, leaving Gellert heaving another low breath and straining not to hold the boy there. 

But then Credence did it again, pressed his thighs together and trapped Gellert’s cock between them, rubbing back and forth in little motions that caused Gellert to moan, long and low against the boy’s ear, bent over him now and unable to straighten. 

Credence tilted his head back and looked up at him with shining eyes, more expressive than any other feature on his face and Gellert could tell he was smiling without moving his lips. The boy was a magnet pulling him down and all around his small frame. 

Gellert went with it. He put his hand on Credence’s hip and the boy lifted for him, letting him press his cock in between his arse cheeks, brushing against the same hole Percival had been inside not a minute before, and pressing slowly in. 

Credence’s mouth opened and his chest rose in a deep breath, but no sound escaped him. He was still a little tender, but Gellert could tell he wanted this, wanted to feel Gellert inside him now that it was his ‘turn’. 

Gellert nearly chuckled at the phrasing in Credence’s mind. It made the boy happy that Gellert wanted him just as much still, as much as Percival had, that he knew this wasn’t meant to pawn Credence off on some other man. Gellert sinking inside him felt like reassurance. Familiarity, connection, all those things Credence had begun to associate with the feel of him in their intimacy—all those things that were good. 

Credence closed his eyes and let his head tip back against Gellert’s shoulder, his upper body going limp so that he could focus on the way Gellert’s hips rolled into him and the way he could shift back ever so slightly. He had leverage in this position, but he was so small and the cock inside him was so large that it still wasn’t easy to control the motion. Not as easy as it was for Gellert, who could lift the boy with every thrust and enjoyed doing so. 

Percival enjoyed it, too—watching Credence’s legs dangle over Gellert’s knees, watching Gellert’s cock, red and slick and just barely visible disappearing into Credence from below. Percival was back to coherency now, laid out and propping himself up on one elbow to watch them, eyes dark and wanting, but sated, too. Drinking them in was a pleasure Percival was indulging in until he was recovered. 

Credence knew they were being watched, but his attention was on Gellert now, and he wasn’t so embarrassed in front of Percival anymore. Coming on the man’s cock had that effect, Gellert reasoned, smiling against the soft skin of Credence’s neck. With one hand to hold the boy in place against him, he let the other wander. Over soft skin it went, finding the plushness of Credence’s frame damp with sweat—his mixed with Percival’s and now Gellert’s. 

Gellert cradled the boy’s head while he pumped up into him, feeling Credence sinking even further into the embrace while the movements of his hips diminished to little jerks against Gellert at every thrust. It was only a small motion, but the counterpoint it created at the end of every thrust made Gellert groan. 

“You are exquisite,” he breathed, wanting to feel the pleasure of his words wash over Credence just as much as he wanted to express them. It was true. Gellert would never have expected a boy molded under the conditions Credence had been to be able to fall into his arms so naturally, learning his motions and able to create such a beautiful counter to it without even thinking. Credence was a wonderfully tactile creature and he’d been starved for it all his life. Somehow, it hadn’t been snuffed out of him. 

Credence turned his head and nuzzled against Gellert’s cheek, looking for a kiss. Gellert’s praise, the pleasure he was striking between them with every rock of his hips, all of it was creating a feedback loop, making Credence want to give him more and more made him want to sink into the boy that much deeper. 

Gellert obliged, guiding Credence’s head to meet him, lazy and demanding at the same time. Gellert moved between focusing on the kiss and focusing on his thrusts, measuring them so that Credence would feel every touch in concert with the others. Small whimpers rewarded Gellert’s efforts and the boy was left with his head thrown back and his fists clutching at whatever material of Gellert’s clothing they could find. 

When he laid Credence down on his side to get more leverage, the boy began writhing back against him in earnest. 

The position put them right in front of Percival, who scooted closer and laid his hand against Credence’s cheek, watching his eyes flutter under dark lashes and heavy lids. 

“Kiss him,” Gellert whispered into Credence’s ear, and Credence responded easily, going with the order without a second thought. 

Percival stilled as Credence began to cover his face in little kisses, hands reaching up for Percival’s head and not letting him escape. It was sweeter than he expected, more innocent except for the way it paired with the thrust of Gellert’s hips pushing into Credence from behind, rocking him forward ever so slightly into Percival every time. A steady beat underlying the seemingly pure affection. Percival’s lips parted for a breath. He was surprised at how arousing it was, this duality in Credence—restraint and desire and, deeper down, a threat Percival knew was there but was so hard to remember in moments like this. 

All the while Gellert knew Percival could spy him watching over Credence’s shoulder, picking apart every passing thought in his mind and every muscle twitch in his face as Credence’s lips pressed over inch after inch. Half of Percival wanted to pull away from the vision of Gellert there, but the other half wanted to pull them both closer. He settled for raising his hands to Credence’s head, stroking down his neck and over his shoulder, passing over Gellert’s arm firmly—and Percival let himself enjoy the feel of it, harder muscle and tighter flesh in contrast to Credence’s softness—before moving down the boy’s side. 

Gellert kept his eyes on Percival until he could ignore Credence no longer, desire to lick and touch and kiss and feel building with the force of his hips and the silken heat inside the boy. He willed Percival closer when he had a moment to break away, pulling the man in with his eyes and Percival’s own desire, until Percival was flush up against Credence’s front, the boy’s hands grasping at his bare skin and his own grasping back. 

Percival’s hands wandered to Gellert. He was right there, moving just like Percival remembered, flush and distracted and on the edge of losing his perfect control. Gellert knew Percival liked seeing him that way, probably more than he liked seeing Gellert any other way. He liked being reminded that Gellert was flesh and blood and human and folly to such things as base desire. 

Gellert slid his hands up Credence’s thighs, catching at his hips and then palming over his little cock. Credence drew in a tight breath—still sensitive from coming minutes before—but rocked against his palm. Gellert did not take it slowly. He matched the rhythm of his palm to the pumping of his hips, timing the tension in Credence’s body to meet his own and letting Percival touch him all the while. Percival was remapping his skin, remembering it, trying to find whether any parts of him had changed, but Percival couldn’t keep his hands away from Credence either. Very steadily, he was regaining his erection. 

Their minds were a jumble. Credence’s eyes caught on it nestled in between Percival’s legs below him, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought to do anything about it, not while Gellert was driving into him so thoroughly and he was wrapped up in Gellert’s arms. Percival’s hands added into the mix, this new body in front of Credence while Gellert was behind him, it all made him feel dizzy and overwhelmed. He tried to focus on both of them, but Gellert’s cock prevented it. All he could manage was holding on to whomever he could. 

When Credence whined, high and hitched, over and over again with the strokes of Gellert’s hand combined with the strokes inside him, Percival countered it. A low groan sounded in unison like a strange choir in Gellert’s bedroom, and Gellert distantly realised that Percival had a hand wrapped around his own cock now and was stroking himself to the sight and the feel of them rutting against him. 

Gellert thrust deep, pushed Credence hard and forward, pressing them both against Percival, and it was the sweetest sensation to feel Credence move with him, to feel Credence, so soft and so pliant, trapped between himself and Percival, a hard and familiar pressure on the other side of the boy. 

With their grunts of surprise and friction and pleasure in his ears, Gellert came, hips jerking forward one more time, deep inside Credence, rocking only in little extra motions just to keep him there, just to feel the sensation of Credence’s body tight around him and the heat coursing through his nerves, feeling himself empty into the boy. 

Gellert came down from his haze with something warm and slightly sticky on the hand he had around Credence, and it took him a moment to figure out that Percival had come again, in between them, and his release had painted Credence’s lower belly and the back of Gellert’s hand. Percival’s mind had turned to nothing but pleasure, all but whited out with the bliss of it. 

Credence was still tight and tense and seeking those little thrusts Gellert was giving him a minute ago. His writhing made Gellert squeeze his eyes closed and hiss in a breath. He pressed his palm flat and stilled Credence’s hips, needing a moment for his nerves to stop singing. It only caused Credence to whine and whimper, but Percival took pity on the boy, placing kisses along his face like Credence had done for him minutes ago. 

It distracted Credence well enough. The whimpers died down with every brush of Percival’s lips, conveniently allowing Gellert to catch his breath and pull out of Credence while the boy was relaxed before he resumed the strokes of his hand. As soon as he did, Credence’s soft hitches of breath returned, this time panting against Percival who stayed where he was, holding Credence for Gellert’s hands. 

Gellert pressed a kiss to the back of the boy’s neck and met Percival’s eyes over his shoulder. Percival’s normally inquisitive dark eyes were glazed now, heavy and and lingering on every part of Gellert or Credence he could find. All Gellert had to do for a kiss was raise his head and lean in before Percival was rising to meet him. It was slow and somewhat sloppy, both of them tired and sated, but it was there. Credence’s mind sang to be between them now. His little nails dug into Percival’s shoulders and his hips rocked back against Gellert as rough as he could. Gellert knew he would be sore later—even Credence knew he would be sore later—but he couldn’t stop himself seeking the pressure and the friction of Gellert’s fingers. 

When Credence came the second time, he went perfectly still between them and then trembled. His hands shot down to Gellert’s wrist, stopping him and riding through the rest of it on his own, and Gellert chuckled. Percival soothed Credence with strokes of his hands and quiet words whispered into his ear. 

“-so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m here with you. It’s okay, just breathe…” 

Gellert smiled into the crook of Credence’s neck, finding it comforting. Delighted that Percival was comforting Credence, making sure the boy had a good experience coming down. There was no thought in it except for the moment, and in that moment Percival had forgotten to remain reserved. 

Credence drew in deep breaths and nuzzled against Percival’s collar bone, and then he turned his head, looking for Gellert. He was more dazed than Percival, even. His soft brown eyes focused lazily on Gellert, but his mind was still in a haze of physical sensation—touch, within and without, all over him, all through him. He felt surrounded by it, engulfed by it, by both Gellert and Percival. 

Gellert smiled a crooked smile before pressing his mouth to Credence’s, letting the boy imbue thank-yous into the kiss. 

Credence knew Gellert had managed this. It was Gellert who brought Percival to their bed, Gellert who’d pushed and prodded the man until he gave in, and Credence couldn’t help but be happy about it. Grateful, even. He turned to wrap his arms around Percival and tried to convey such a feeling to a man who couldn’t hear his mind like Gellert could, but Credence was too exhausted to do much other than hold on loosely and rub his cheek against Percival’s neck. 

Gellert smiled lazily and stroked the back of Credence’s head. He was wet and sticky with sweat all over beneath the clothes he still wore, but he didn’t care for the moment. He’d be rid of them soon. Percival and Credence both were too exhausted to consider leaving the bed. 

Percival’s mind was finally catching up with him—Gellert could feel it in the slowing rhythm of his heart and the subtle massage of his hand against Credence’s side, could feel it in the way his eyes settled onto Gellert’s shoulder and his mind felt fuzzy all over, but tinged with an emotion Percival was trying to avoid. 

Gellert didn’t pry. He settled down behind Credence and pressed a kiss to the back of the boy’s neck, enjoying how happy Credence was, how relieved and how thankful he was that his two favourite men were there with him now. That they’d shared this with him. But Credence was drifting off quickly, and he probably wouldn’t come back out of it for some hours yet. 

Percival focused on that. He watched Credence’s face go slack and serene, his soft lips parted and his breathing steady. Percival rested that way for a long time, and Gellert let him. 

Gellert let him settle until he felt the tiredness in him begin to outweigh his desire to stay awake, and then Gellert knew it was time to clean up. Percival had outlasted the period where he might have run, might have picked himself up and retreated back to his room, ashamed and afraid to ever do that again. 

When Gellert was sure he was going to stay the night, he lifted himself up and stretched, losing the rest of his clothes piece by piece. Percival’s eyes followed as they went, but the man remained beside Credence, by all accounts just as relaxed as he’d been before. Gellert could feel the uncertainty creeping in the undercurrent of Percival’s mind, but still he tried to ignore it. The sight of Gellert naked—flesh smooth and pale and all too familiar and forbidden at the same time—drew Percival in a way he couldn’t ignore. 

Gellert leaned over Credence and drew his hand over the boy’s side, just above his skin, and took away the remnants of their sweat and fluids with a wordless spell. He did the same for Percival and himself, and Percival remained quiet all the while, recognising that Gellert didn’t want to wake Credence. With another burst of wordless magic, Gellert dimmed the lights until the room fell into darkness and settled down into the sheets behind Credence. 

Stillness overtook them. There were no noises from outside, no creaking of neighbours above or below, no signs of life anywhere but for the soft sighs and twitches Credence made when sleep drew him deeper still, and all the while Gellert and Percival sat through it, relaxing…recuperating. 

Percival went from desiring nothing more than sleep and oblivion to drifting back towards the waking world. His mind wouldn’t allow him that much ignorance, it seemed, and his body recovered its energy little by little. 

He began to stroke the silky hair at the base of Credence's neck as he laid there in the dark, contemplating what they’d just done. What he’d let himself do. The boy was so soft, and Gellert could feel how it still caught Percival off guard every time he touched him. Perhaps Percival might have gone a lifetime without remembering the softness of a child's skin had it not been for Gellert. 

It was a frightening promise, that Credence's skin was there whenever he wanted to reach for it now. Gellert had encouraged him to luxuriate in the privilege, but Percval had been mindful, searching Credence's body language for signs of discomfort, and so far Credence only smiled at him, shy and hopeful and leaned into the touches as much as he dared. Credence was a very sensitive young boy, and Percival knew that, but somehow Credence had not lost his ability to receive affection. Gellert felt Percival turning it over in his mind—that Gellert had lured that desire for affection out of him, somehow. Lured it from the dark, tormented place it had been hiding.

Percival started as he caught a glimmer of light in the darkness. Only the most subtle flicker of a pale reflection, but it was enough to see that Gellert's eyes were open and watching him. He’d thought Gellert had drifted off some time ago.

"Can you see in the dark, too...?" Percival murmured, a little sardonically. Careful to keep his voice low and not wake the boy.

"Maybe I can," Gellert replied in his usual husky whisper, knowing Percival felt, rather than saw, the smirk. "You're thinking about the boy."

"Yes. Worried for him..."

"Worried for yourself. Worried you'll cross another line. Betray yourself. Not worried about him."

Percival's lips tightened in annoyance. " _Both_ ," he said firmly. "Legilimency doesn't tell you everything, you know. Thoughts don't exist alone, they have depth and context. Plucking a fruit from a low-hanging branch doesn't tell you anything about the root."

"Tells me whether you're an apple or a pear tree," Gellert mused. "And you're _definitely_ a pear."

Only Gellert could make Percival feel so antagonised with such a veiled and abstract implication. It was all in his tone, smug and assured. Just a little flirtatious.

"Tell me you don't want to pluck him," Gellert continued, shifting a little closer so that Credence moaned in his sleep and curled further toward Percival's chest. 

Percival cupped Credence's head and kissed his crown protectively. 

He neglected to answer.


	20. Chapter 20

Percival awoke with sleep crusted eyes and heavy limbs, warm and content for the first time in a long time. He was lying on his side with his face pressed into one end of a pillow and he was fairly sure his mouth had been open. He had to swallow several times to work moisture back into it, but he was still too comfortable to move and look for water. He awoke, also, to a sight he never thought he’d see again. 

Across from him laid the sleeping face of Gellert Grindelwald, eyes closed and head tilted down, light brows relaxed and figure curled in on himself slightly, looking for all the world nothing like the perfectly controlled version of himself he put on during his waking hours. It was only when Percival shifted and glanced between them that he realised Gellert wasn’t curled in on himself—he was curled around the small body between them. 

A tuft of black hair peeked between the edge of Gellert’s pillow and the light blanket he’d thrown over them sometime in the night, and Percival could feel Credence’s nose squished against his chest like he’d been trying to burrow there. The weight of Credence’s small body between them was half the reason Percival felt so comfortable. Credence had swaddled himself in blankets and rested warm and soft against Percival’s front. Credence was all baby soft skin when Percival moved a hand to touch him, finding a bit of skin the blankets hadn’t covered completely. 

They were tangled up together, all three of them vulnerable and lazy, even Gellert. Percival didn’t want to break the silence. So he let his hand wander, slowly, from Credence’s side to Gellert’s arm, finding it wrapped loosely around the boy. Passing from the rough and hairy skin of Gellert’s forearm to baby smooth and back again, Percival idly mapped them both. 

It was so strange to see Gellert—no, Grindelwald, he tried to remind himself again—like this. Sleep was the one time he let himself relax and approach something approximating vulnerability in Percival’s presence, and it was somehow more unsettling for Percival than it was liberating. Unsettling, perhaps, in how much he liked seeing the man this way. 

He pushed the sheets down from Credence’s head, worried the boy would smother himself if he remained the way he was for much longer, and brushed his fingers through Credence’s hair to tilt his head back as gently as possible. Credence murmured something in his sleep and his eyes parted, but they were unfocused—either still asleep or too content where he was to care. 

Credence was, as always, beautiful. It struck Percival how the boy could be so, with a slight bit of drool at the corner of his lip and his face slack. But he could see what Gellert—he really had to give up on trying for Grindelwald at this point—had taken such strong interest in him, sexually. It made Percival’s gut twist to think they were the same in this regard, but he couldn’t stop. Credence was beautiful, a vision really, even—or maybe especially so—this young. 

Percival had always liked boys. Liked men, too, but liked boys especially so. Credence in the photograph he kept would have been his perfect idea of a boy, or a young man. He turned his eyes away when faced with anything younger. He’d always avoided it, and of course it would be Gellert to draw such a desire out of him and into the light of day, one he never would have wanted to confront, himself. Gellert had done such things when Percival had been his captive the last time, it should hardly be a surprise now. 

It came to Gellert so effortlessly. He was the no-maj’s Lucifer, the tempter of men. 

Credence sighed and burrowed his head back down into Percival’s chest, exactly where he’d been before, and Percival decided to give up on worrying whether he would suffocate or not.

“If I played my pipe for you, Percy, could I lead you away?” 

Gellert’s voice was so soft, his eyes closed as he spoke, that it took a moment for Percival to realise where the sound was coming from. 

Percival merely grunted in response. Noncommittal, tired, too sleepy and too tangled up to think on such things at the moment. Not when he was this comfortable, not when Credence was sighing and rubbing his cheek against Percival’s bare skin. Percival yawned and shifted closer, seeking the press of Credence’s small body, and only then realising that he’d been getting aroused. 

Across the distance, one of Gellert’s hands wrapped around the small of his back and pulled Percival closer. Credence was pressed between them, but Percival could still feel Gellert’s hips meet his own, and he learned that Gellert was in the very same situation. 

Percival lifted himself up and found Gellert ready to meet him, catching Percival’s head with the palm of his hand and guiding them together. Gellert’s mouth was surprisingly pleasant in this morning hour, lips full and for once pliant against his own, still relaxed and content as he was. Gellert was never like that at any other time than upon just waking, and the feel of him letting Percival control the kiss sent a wave of desire through him he hadn’t expected. 

Beneath them, Percival felt Credence’s palm against his chest. The boy was feeling him breathe, listening to the sounds of their sighs as the kiss grew deeper, and when Credence shifted, Percival was sure that he’d noticed they were both aroused. 

It occurred to him then that this might be a normal morning routine for the boy when he slept in Gellert’s bed. Percival often only thought of their times together during the night, but he knew for a fact that Gellert sometimes woke sleepy and aroused. That seemed to be the case that morning. It was hard to think of Gellert that way except that Gellert was under his hands at that very moment, meeting Percival with pliant eagerness, content not to take control this time. 

Percival lifted his hand to the back of Gellert’s head, letting his nails catch as they went, but only pulling the hair he grabbed lightly. He didn’t think Gellert would stay this pliant for long if Percival really annoyed him. Consciously, he dropped that thought as quickly as it came, preferring to focus on the sensation of their hips rubbing together with Credence in between them instead and knowing Gellert might be idly listening in. 

Gellert let out a soft sound and nipped into Percival’s lower lip, not a reproach, just a show of desire. Percival had worked out the difference long ago. 

At some point he realised Credence was watching them intently. Lying curled between them as he was, he had the perfect viewing angle, and he could feel the way they moved. 

When they broke apart, Gellert bent down to place a kiss atop Credence’s head, chaste and affectionate. Slightly amused, if Percival wasn’t mistaken. Whatever Credence had been thinking, it had caused that reaction in Gellert, but the boy’s curious eyes and serene face was a mystery to Percival. 

“I really should have trained harder with legilimency,” he complained before Gellert took his mouth again. 

Gellert laughed between their kisses and dragged his nails down Percival’s back. “It’s as much a talent as it is a practised skill. You know that. Unfortunately, most don’t have that sort of talent.” 

Percival bit back the gut reaction to ask why Gellert was keeping him around at all with his limited talents, knowing it would only inject the reality he was trying to avoid into the moment. 

“You have other talents, I’m sure.” Gellert grinned and nipped at Percival’s lip again. He reached down and sneaked a hand between them, massaging against Credence’s side before shifting until their cocks were aligned beside the boy and he could wrap a hand around them both. 

It was so quick that Percival had to close his eyes for a minute. All he could do was breathe as Gellert applied pressure. He could feel his mouth open and a sigh escape him, and he pressed his hips up into the heat of Gellert’s hand. He felt Gellert do the same, the thick cock against his own moving with him at a rhythm just a hair out of sync in order to create more friction. Gellert’s hand coated in lubrication and Percival’s eyes fluttered with relief. 

He was sure that Credence was staring at him now. He could have looked, but he didn’t dare for the moment. Not when he was this deep in Gellert’s clutches. It occurred to him then that, maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be. Gellert was still sleep heavy and just as relaxed as Percival himself was. Gellert had just gotten his hand around them quicker. 

Testing, Percival rolled his hips with a little more force. Gellert let him. With a long sigh and eyelids drifting, Gellert looked pleased with the motion, in fact. 

Knowing there was no way Percival could draw this out much longer, he thrust again and this time shifted his weight to roll Gellert under him. It was difficult with Credence right there, but Credence pulled his legs up and squirmed away just far enough not to get caught in the motion. The perfect position to watch. 

Gellert didn’t let him roll all the way, his fingers dug into Percival’s hair and stopped him with half his weight on top of Gellert. Somehow, Gellert’s eyelids were even lower and he was looking at Percival with pure indulgence in his face—a soft smile at his mouth, but expression otherwise still slack with contentment. Like he knew Percival would stop there without any more effort required on Gellert’s part. 

That was true. But Percival had gotten just enough of what he wanted. He could thrust into Gellert’s hand now and feel Gellert being pressed under him. A mimicry of fucking it may have been, but it was nice all the same. And he kind of liked the fact that Credence was watching now. 

Gellert’s smile widened at Percival’s thought and he chuckled softly. 

There was no way Percival could stop these telling little thoughts with this kind of pleasure building between his legs. He could keep his mind in check, more or less, otherwise, but when he was at the mercy of desire, it was impossible. 

“Don’t try,” Gellert advised, leaning in to nip at Percival’s ear while his hand twisted over the heads of their cocks. 

It made Percival moan and strain against him, seeking more pressure, harder, faster, _anything_ , until Gellert obliged. He quickened the pace of his wrist and squeezed a little harder, and Percival caught Gellert baring his teeth at the sensation of it. He couldn’t help rock his hips up, even if it pushed Gellert down. He couldn’t help wind an arm around the man and hold on, trying to get closer, knowing he should be trying to pull away instead. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Gellert was right there and Percival sought his mouth again, pushing at him, their movements getting rougher little by little. 

Gellert didn’t seem to mind. He pushed back against Percival and wound his fingers through Percival’s hair, controlling the angle of his head. Beside them, Percival saw Credence’s legs draw closer to his body, likely not wanting them to fall on him. He would have tried to reassure the boy if he could, but he couldn’t think and he couldn’t do anything but press forward. 

It was Gellert who came first. His hand trembled, catching on the rhythm and throwing it off for a second before Percival felt the warm wetness of his release, but Gellert didn’t stop as he rode through it. He kept stroking them both as his eyes closed and the softest sound escaped his lips, practically sighing into Percival and holding onto him with just one arm. The grip turned painful, but it was the only thing keeping Gellert upright until the waves of climax receded. 

Gellert released himself and wrapped his hand around Percival instead. A handful of breaths was all the down time he needed before he was pushing Percival back, throwing his weight into it until Percival fell and Gellert was on top of him, legs on either side of his hips and hand on his dick. Gellert never stopped. His mismatched eyes fell behind Percival for a moment, meeting Credence’s. Something passed between them that Percival couldn’t decipher, but it was gone just as quickly and then Gellert’s eyes were back on him. 

Out of his periphery, Percival could see Credence drawing closer to sit somewhere behind his shoulder. The boy stayed there and watched Gellert work, so Percival closed his eyes and tried to pretend he wasn’t being studied. 

It was easy to forget when Gellert fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the bedside and pressing his mouth to Percival’s before moving off and biting at his neck. The rough kisses went everywhere, and Percival had the strangest feeling that he was being reclaimed somehow. Not magically, just…physically. 

He tried to thrust up, but Gellert’s weight caught him and held him firmly down. Gellert was merciful enough to put a little more force into his strokes whenever Percival attempted it though. Faster, harder, with that little twist at the top, and Percival wasn’t going to last much longer. He imagined what it would feel like to be inside Gellert, sitting up on his hips like that. When Gellert smirked down at him, he knew the man was amused. No reproach, just Gellert drinking him in, body and mind. 

Gellert’s hand slowed for a second just to tease him and Percival threw his head back with a groan, trying to goad him on. Two small hands landed on his shoulders then, and Percival blinked up at Credence. Credence who was watching him curiously. At least that was what Percival thought was the expression on the boy’s face—blank, but with an open quality to it. 

Credence was holding him down. Or helping to hold him down. Or maybe the boy just wanted to touch him and wasn’t sure how. His hands smoothed over Percival’s skin, pressing into the flesh below his collar deep enough to feel like a massage before moving back to his shoulders and holding him there. 

Percival closed his eyes and let the boy explore. His hips still tried to rock up into Gellert’s hand, and the more he let both sensations sink in, the better it was. 

Credence clearly didn’t know what he was doing as much as Gellert did. His touch wasn’t intended to cultivate a certain reaction in Percival, and so it became a counterpoint to Gellert’s strokes, one without rhythm or pace. Percival let his head fall back and his neck arch and then felt the tips of small fingers trail lightly up his throat. Credence seemed wary of pressing too hard there, but his touch lingered. It was a much more intimate place than Percival’s shoulders. 

Gellert laughed, soft like he was holding the moment, and Percival felt his cock twitch in the man’s hand. He didn’t know why this turned him on now, having both Gellert and Credence above him. Master and pupil, they may have been. It should have worried him. But he liked Gellert’s touch, and he opened his eyes to see the man again, sitting regal and naked at Percival’s hips, hair in disarray and eyes as bright as ever. The sleepy, vulnerable Gellert was gone. And Credence, Percival couldn’t see all of him, but he could feel the boy’s curious hands and the more they wandered, the more Percival knew he wasn’t going to last very long. 

Gellert’s free fingers pressed beneath Percival’s balls and he moaned so deep it vibrated through his body. He was sure Credence felt it. The boy stopped for a moment, and Percival had a split second to wonder just how much of an experiment he was to Credence—just a new body to explore—but then Gellert’s hands began to move together and he was gone. 

Percival squeezed his eyes shut as he came, shooting spurts of warmth over his stomach, right there for Credence to see. 

Blissfully, Gellert’s hands slowed and held him gently as he came down. Credence’s touches remained curious, dipping a little lower towards the centre of his chest before drawing back. Percival felt the shift in the mattress as the boy settled down behind him. 

He didn’t feel like moving just then, not even when Gellert bent forward, looking over him with fond amusement, and then leaned not down to him, but up and behind him to offer Credence a kiss before he came down to Percival. 

Percival closed his eyes when he felt Gellert’s mouth. He wanted to stay as he was like that and not be seen. 

Not yet. 

Not yet…. But he knew it would happen. Gellert relaxed beside him, propping himself up on one elbow and sliding his hand down Percival’s chest, sluicing through the slick of his release along the way, and Percival knew he would have to get up and face this before long.

Gellert tilted his head, studying Percival. Percival could detect little judgement behind it, just a quiet consideration. Maybe even amusement. 

There came a shuffling of the sheets behind him and Credence moved around to his side, unsure of where he should be before Gellert leaned back to make room and held out his arm for the boy. Without hesitation, Credence climbed over Percival and fitted himself in between them just as he’d been earlier. 

Percival raised a hand to pet at Credence’s hair, still a little thrilled at being allowed to do this. 

“You’ll want breakfast.” Gellert smiled at them both, and Credence nodded hopefully. 

Percival was just thankful he wasn’t being teased or taunted for his many lapses in judgement between last night and that morning. Yet. He licked his lips and considered. 

“May I make a request for oranges?”

Gellert’s smile only widened. “Of course, my dear Percival.” He seemed just as happy not to confront the way things had changed for the moment, but then again, Gellert had gotten what he’d wanted. There was no need. 

“Why don’t you join me in the bath?” Gellert lowered his mouth to Credence’s ear, his voice soft and sensuous. “I’ll have Gwendoline prepare something.” 

Credence’s eyes followed him as he rose, slipping from the bed to find a robe, all lithe muscle and pale skin. Not too thin, not too bulky. Gellert had the body of a dancer, and the motion for it, too. But then again, he knew they were watching. Percival wondered what Gellert Grindelwald was like when no one was watching. 

Gellert’s pale head turned and the wink of his eye turned his dishevelled state into the most alluring picture. “You’ll need a bath before the day is through, too Percy.” He tied the robe around himself with a whip of fabric and cracked his neck, and Credence took that as the cue to follow. Credence, however, did not seek out a robe for himself. He probably didn’t see the need in it, since Percival was there in Gellert’s bed and there was no one else in the apartment to see them moving across the hall. 

Percival remembered a time when the boy would cover himself head to toe, with fresh clothing under one arm, and do his best to sneak across the hall every morning if Percival’s door hadn’t been shut the night before. Credence didn’t look particularly proud nor bothered by his own nudity now, and Percival decided that was probably best. He followed Gellert to the door, who paused only long enough to give Percival an appraising look before he slipped out. 

Credence, as though mimicking the motion, glanced at Percival, too. When their eyes met, Percival hoped only the fondness he felt showed on his face. He still felt caught somewhere between the real world and this one—this hazy morning in which he’d given in and taken up Gellert’s offer to become intimate again. Credence’s offer, too. That was the most difficult part to mesh with reality. 

The door swung nearly shut behind them, and moments later Percival heard the faucet of the tub coming from across the hall. A second door clicked shut, sealing him out for the time being, but he could still hear the sounds of water splashing. 

It didn’t bother him that they’d left together. He wondered if it should have, but he couldn’t find it in him. Gellert was in control here, as he always was. Except for those brief moments when their hands were on each other and Percival fought back with violent kisses and the sturdy weight of his own body, in his refusal to back down completely. He ran a hand over his face and wondered if that was why he liked it so much. If that was why Gellert drew him in so easily when he was the man’s prisoner—that it felt a little less like being a prisoner. 

Credence, as far as he could see, didn’t feel like one at all anymore. 

Percival sighed. The boy liked him—he was sure of that now—but Credence wasn’t going to help him seek freedom. Credence wanted to stay, and Percival feared that it was going to take a lot to get the boy to reconsider that desire. He wasn’t sure if there was anything he could do to change that for Credence. Gellert had his loyalty. Gellert had his everything. 

He swallowed and looked down at himself, naked and sticky all down his front, sprawled out over Gellert’s bed, and finally began to feel like maybe he’d played into their hands just a little more than he’d intended to. He’d wanted comfort. The kind of comfort Credence still had. He’d wanted to let go and he’d thought the best way to do it was to seek the boy, not quite realising how quickly he’d be pulled into Gellert’s clutches as well. Some part of him had realised, he was sure, that one went with the other now. No one had access to Credence without Gellert being there as well. And Percival…maybe Percival hadn’t been as reluctant as he’d wanted to be with Gellert again. 

He sighed and sat up, looking for something he could use to dry himself off. There were clothes strewn around the edge of the bed and some on the floor. Percival could only find Credence’s shirt, but it would need to be cleaned anyway. Once he felt a little more presentable, he climbed up and began searching for his own clothes. 

His eyes wandered the room. Once he was back in his trousers, he took a moment to explore. Gellert liked rich but austere furnishings, it seemed. Dark furniture and brass and marble ornaments Percival found here and there, and mirrors…. So many mirrors. Standing at the vanity, Percival could see himself from every angle as they were placed behind him around the room. He felt goosebumps raise along the back of his arms when he looked too long. 

He would need a shave, at least they told him that much. He wasn’t sure what to think about the sight of himself ruffled and half dressed in Gellert’s bedroom either. 

His perusing yielded a few magical trinkets, but none he could use with the bonds he wore. He was useless here. All this room was to him was a gilded bed and a few closets. 

He pulled on his shirt but left it hanging loose, not wanting to get it dirtier. All his clothes were actually Gellert’s, modified where needed, and he didn’t have many lent to him. He didn’t imagine he’d get many more any time soon, either, but that was just as well. He didn’t know what he’d say if Gellert suggested shopping for him like he’d done with Credence. That was a step more commitment to this situation than Percival was comfortable with. 

He did, however, find himself comfortable lingering in Gellert’s room. It was new. It was unknown when he’d worn down everything else in this place so thoroughly, none so much as his own room, and he certainly didn’t want to return there. He also didn’t want to show up in the kitchen even if it was only the house elf who would find him in this state. Which was ridiculous, Percival reminded himself. It wasn’t as though he cared what an elf thought, and she was bound to find out sooner or later what he’d done, regardless. 

He wasn’t sure if the whole thing would end here. 

No. He was very sure it wouldn’t end here. He knew Gellert, and he knew himself and the effect Gellert apparently had on him. 

Percival reclined back on the bed until he heard the bathroom door open again and two pairs of footsteps exit. The clatter of silverware soon followed along with Gellert’s voice calling for the elf, and Percival knew this was his chance. Coffee and breakfast would be waiting for him. 

He gathered himself up and slipped into the steam filled bathroom, unsure what he could expect from the day to come. 

What he did not expect upon exiting the bathroom, his hair still damp and the rest of him feeling much cleaner, was Gellert seated at the table with a cup of coffee and a plate of scones and orange slices sitting ignored at his elbow, glaring down at a newspaper. At his side, Credence sat looking somewhat worried, his breakfast also untouched. 

Percival slowed his step as he entered the dining room, uncertain how to proceed. 

Gellert looked up and tossed the newspaper across the table so that Percival could see the article. Skimming, Percival found that it proclaimed the German Ministry refused to drop Grindelwald as an active enemy of society at large and refused all pressure from the public to consider him as a legitimate contender for office. 

When Percival looked back up, he found Gellert reclined back in his chair, eyes cast to the ceiling. He sighed, but did not seem particularly surprised. 

“Did you really think this had a chance? A fair amount of public support, granted, but only that and a few marches around the country?” Percival had to ask. 

The smile that appeared on Gellert’s face was somewhat self-deprecating. “No,” he sighed. “No, I did not. But I had hoped. I do have more support than ‘a few marches around the country’, you know. But to those in power, I am a criminal contender.” 

Credence fidgeted in his seat, looking uncomfortable to hear Gellert state this so casually. Maybe even uncomfortable because Gellert was unhappy. 

Gellert seemed to pick up on it, and he sat up again, brushing his fingers behind Credence’s ear and offering the boy a warmer smile. 

“No matter,” he said as though Credence was as invested in his political aspirations as he was himself. “There are other ways to get what I need.” 

Credence leaned into the touch and looked somewhat more reassured at Gellert’s change in mood. 

Percival was not. 

“Such as?” he asked in a conversational tone, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table and hoping Gellert wouldn’t suddenly switch moods again. He pulled a plate of scones and orange slices to himself and waited as Gwendoline floated another cup of coffee to the table. 

“All in good time.” Gellert finally remembered his plate and bit into a slice, licking citrus from his fingers as he swallowed the rest while Credence’s eyes lingered there. 

Percival had tried to ignore such looks between them before, but now it was harder not to notice. Maybe because he noticed, himself. But all this wasn’t just Gellert’s desire for Credence. It was Credence’s desire for Gellert. And now Percival had joined the mix. 

“This does unfortunately mean that I’ll have to leave for the day. I had hoped to stay and make up for the lost time.” Gellert considered a scone before taking a bite, his eyes fond on Percival when he looked up again. “I’d like you to help Credence with his wand today, if you would.” 

Percival would have sworn there was a double entendre there had Gellert not been so serious from this morning’s news, and he carefully decided not to mention it. 

“But I still can’t do anything,” Credence interrupted like he was worried Gellert had forgotten—worried Gellert had been putting more faith in him than was warranted. 

Gellert placed his hand over Credence’s on the table and the boy stilled. “I know. I merely want you not to give up.” 

Gellert’s words were gentle, but direct, and Credence looked chastened when he nodded his understanding. Percival didn’t think Credence understood at all. He wasn’t sure he understood Gellert’s logic behind all that practise, either, except to get Credence used to the wand, or in some small hope that some untainted magic might get through. But Credence wasn’t getting used to the wand. He was getting more frustrated with it every time he tried. Every time, he dreaded it a little bit more, knowing he would fail. 

Percival watched Gellert’s hand squeeze around Credence’s on the table with a sinking suspicion creeping into his gut. It was possible, upon seeing Credence fail every time, that Gellert now wanted him to fail. It made Credence upset. It left him angry and feeling inferior, hating his own magic just a little bit more…. Exactly what the obscurus had needed to grow strong inside him in the first place. 

Percival swallowed and set down his breakfast. His eyes met Gellert’s across the table, and for a split second he saw something he couldn’t decipher on Gellert’s face—eyes larger than usual, brows furrowed so subtly, no doubt he was reading Percival, but something almost like surprise there before annoyance replaced it and Gellert sighed. “Will you?”

Percival frowned, picking up his coffee for something else to focus on while he worked over his thoughts. “Yes.” 

He could refuse. Maybe he should, but if there was an off-chance that Credence might have a shred of hope left, he didn’t want to dash it. And if there really was a minute possibility of Credence learning to perform magic, tainted with the parasitic magic or no, Percival didn’t want to snuff it out prematurely. All the while he knew his last attempts at optimism might be playing right into Gellert’s hands, and he didn’t like it. 

But this was just as he’d remembered. Only in their quiet or intimate moments did he lay down the fight, the constant suspicion. As soon as they were on normal ground again, all that was back with a vengeance. If Gellert had expected anything different from him, he shouldn’t have. 

“Good.” With that, Gellert rose from his chair, surprising Credence, who’d clearly hoped he would have stayed longer, but Credence got up and followed quickly, leaving Percival at the table with three half eaten plates. 

“Will you be back late?” Credence asked.

“I might be, but I’ll try not to stay away too long. If Percival gets too bothersome, do tell him to mind his own business and go back to his room.”

Percival overheard their conversation from the hall. Gellert knew he wouldn’t bother Credence unduly, even if he wanted to let the boy know of his suspicions. Or at least his reservations on using magic through the wand. The boy shouldn’t have to be let down every time, even though Percival had tried to put less pressure on him about it before, had tried to reassure him and warn him there was a possibility it may never work, and to prepare himself for that. But Credence didn’t know how not to care about this subject in particular. The boy had learnt to let go of nearly everything else in his life, and he was so good at it, but apparently when something got past that boundary in his mind, he latched onto it deeply. 

Maybe it was because it was all wrapped up in Gellert, and Gellert had wrapped himself up in the guise of Credence’s saviour, telling him all he needed was magic. It was so hard for Percival to determine where Credence’s fixation on Gellert ended and the boy’s own needs began. As he listened to their voices, soft in the hall, he wondered whether Credence could separate the two. 

Minutes later, he heard the front door shut and Credence came around the corner of the hall again. He didn’t look as put out as Percival thought he might, still bright and lacking the slouch to his posture. Percival felt himself soften to see it. Their eyes met and Credence sat himself back down at the table as though this happened every morning. As though he and Percival and Gellert hadn’t all spent the night getting intimately acquainted with one another. And the morning thereafter. 

Percival swallowed a gulp of coffee. 

“He said he’ll be late,” Credence informed him as though he’d not been listening in. “And that I needed to be patient and not worry so much about what my magic comes out like….” There came the slump to his shoulders, but Credence tried to roll it off. He picked up a scone and nibbled at the edge, somehow perfectly comfortable in Percival’s presence. 

That was a good thing, Percival decided. He tried to take Credence’s cue and relax, himself. “How do you feel about practising today?” 

Credence shrugged. “He made it sound like it’s important. Not…important right now, not when I can’t do it, but still important somehow; do you know what I mean?” 

Percival nodded slowly. “I do. And I confess I’m not sure what he’s thinking here. I…am not an expert on obscurial magic, and I don’t know whether or not it will get any better.” Percival carefully laid his hands down on the table, cup folded between them to keep them occupied—a tactic he’d learnt at meetings long ago to make himself seem more still than he was. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I also don’t want you to believe you have no chance of learning normal magic, either.”

Credence nodded. They’d been over this, every time he failed in fact. 

“It was easier in the other place, behind the bridge. I could do it for him there, but I couldn’t before on my own.” 

“What do you mean?” Percival’s brow furrowed. 

“I tried to do regular magic on the other side and it didn’t work right away, but when he asked me to think about him instead…what he wanted instead of what I wanted, that was easier.” 

Percival’s brows furrowed deeper, turning the dynamic over in his mind. “You didn’t have to justify using magic if it was for him?” 

Credence nodded. He’d managed to put it into words. “But I don’t know how to do that here. It doesn’t work the same. It doesn’t feel right. It just feels…ugly.” 

“We don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. We can do something else. Maybe, try practising a simple potion with ingredients from the kitchen, or maybe you’d be better with wandless magic.” The cup in Percival’s hands rolled between them, side to side, as he tested Credence’s limits.

Credence didn’t look hopeful though. “No…. I mean maybe we can try those things, too, but he said I should practise with the wand.” He sighed, but straightened his back, consciously bringing himself out of the hunch he drifted into so often. 

“Alright.” Percival would go along with it like he did every time Credence tried, and he would hope the boy would grow tired and give up, move on to something else before the stress built up too much, but he knew by now that every time Credence would refuse. He would try until the tension wound tight around his body and found a home inside his chest and he knew there was no point anymore. 

But Credence finished his breakfast and brought his plate into the kitchen, helping Gwendoline in what little ways he could, and went straight for his room where he kept the wand at his bedside table and returned with it. 

He didn’t look too disheartened that day, and Percival wondered whether that had anything to do with the way they’d spent the morning. They weren’t talking about it yet, and Percival knew that it would probably have to be he who brought it up if he wanted to—unless of course Gellert returned home—but that was alright for now.

It had been…good. Credence seemed to feel good about it, and cared-for, and that was what Percival wanted to see. He could put Gellert and the potential consequences of his actions out of his mind for a little while longer, so long as things remained this way. 

He pursed his lips, drained his coffee, and went to see whether today was the day Credence’s magic would miraculously turn out normal. 

It was not meant to be. 

Credence tried with the wand a dozen times and more, but still found his magic tainted with black oil. Percival searched the kitchen but could find nothing comparable to potion-making supplies, so he had to give that up as a lost cause. He did manage to persuade Credence into trying magic without a wand, by holding up his hand or merely focusing as hard as he could upon an object and seeing if he could make it move. 

Credence told him he could, sometimes. When he was angry, especially. When the obscurus was on the verge of coming loose, he could do those things, but he’d never been able to at other times. 

Credence tried, but he couldn’t manage it. Percival didn’t want to work him up just for the sake of success, either. Credence had already tasted those moments in hot fury or cold rage, he didn’t need to experience that again. 

When Percival could finally say they’d tried all they could, Credence agreed and let himself be scooped up on the couch with Percival. It was something Percival had wanted to do all day, ever since Gellert had left. Credence having curled up in his lap, trusting and disregarding propriety enough to relax was something he had only imagined he could ask for. 

And so they sat, content enough, in their gilded cage until Gellert returned late that night. 

He came home carrying pinpoints of snow upon his shoulders and hair and an icy current about his person that told Percival he’d been outdoors for hours at least, and Percival could only guess at what he’d been doing. But Gellert’s eyes were bright, even the darkest of the pair, and there was a heavy, determined weight to his step as he came inside to greet them. 

Credence sat up and bounded off Percival’s lap at the first sign of Gellert, but Percival had expected as much. He climbed off the couch and went to go see whether Gellert would tell them what he’d been up to or not, expecting not, but knowing he may has well. 

Gellert caught Credence round the middle as he ran forward, expecting Gellert’s motion and trusting himself to be gathered up. Gellert swung the boy up in his arms and Credence shivered at the cold that still clung to him, hands leaving Gellert’s shoulders as soon as they made contact. 

Gellert simply laughed. “You’ll have to warm me up, I’m afraid.” He nuzzled his cold nose into Credence’s cheek and Credence gave a soft cry, pulling his shoulders up to his ears and squirming, all while the happiness in his expression gave him away. 

Percival wanted to hate the picture they made. He’d wanted to for a long time, maybe since the first time he saw them together like this, but it had always shocked him more than it had disgusted him. And now…now it didn’t shock him much anymore. He wished it still did, but all it made him feel was warm and vaguely unsettled. 

Percival stepped up to the edge of the hall, leaning on the archway of the dining room, edging into their space as much as he would allow himself. Gellert turned to him, Credence swinging in his arms like a child even younger than he looked, before he set the boy down. When Gellert drew up to Percival, there was a familiar heat in his eye—a surety that he would not be denied this time, and he was right. When Gellert leaned in to press his mouth to Percival’s, Percival didn’t back away. He didn’t turn his head or hold up a hand. He didn’t resist at all, just closed his eyes and let Gellert’s cool lips press against his own. 

It had been so long since Percival had touched the outside world that it felt, for a split second, glorious. He could swear he smelled pine in Gellert’s hair. 

When Percival opened his eyes again, Gellert’s were on him, crinkles of merriment nestled at their corners, and then he drew away, petting a hand down Credence’s back as he went. “Let’s turn up the heat in here, shall we?” he asked to no one in particular. Gellert brought life into their rooms whenever he returned. Percival and Credence may as well have been ghosts, silently moving about the halls until then, and Percival could feel himself responding to the warmth of that energy. He wanted to let himself bask in it, just as Credence was following Gellert through the rooms now, watching with that eternal fascination as he waved a hand and turned on the furnace. 

But something in Percival resisted. He needed to step away, needed to find his own footing again. He couldn’t let himself be pulled along like this so easily, not when he knew there was nowhere to go. The thought of drifting behind Gellert from room to room was distasteful, no matter how his newly loosened desires craved the man’s nearness. As much as they craved Credence’s. But Credence had stayed with him all day. Credence had rested in his arms and had not needed the pretence of studying anymore, and that had been nice. More than nice. But with Gellert, Percival needed to slow this down. The man would burn him up and eat him alive otherwise, and the look in his eye as he turned back to Percival, surely reading his thoughts, only confirmed it. 

“I’ll take my leave,” Percival announced. “It’s late, and I could use the sleep. You have a good night,” he added to Credence, who looked a little put out to see him go so soon. 

Gellert merely smiled, not bothering to acknowledge the excuse. 

“Goodnight, Mr.—Percival,” Credence tried out the new name, awkward and unsure in his mouth. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Of course.” Percival laid a hand over the boy’s head, ruffling his hair just to feel the softness of it before he departed the room. 

Walking back down the hall was the strangest escape he’d ever made. To think this hall and the room at the end of it could ever _be_ an escape said as much as was needed about his state of mind, so he stopped in the bathroom to clean up for the night and put it off just a little longer. Through that door, he could still hear their murmuring voices. As he stared at himself in the mirror, face still damp after the quick wash, he realised they didn’t bother him so much anymore. Credence’s soft bell of a voice mixed with Gellert’s low purr didn’t set him on edge. 

He sighed and dried himself, and retreated to the silence behind his own door again.

* * *

Much to Credence’s disappointment, Gellert still had work to do. He put on a pot of coffee and sat with him in the kitchen while it brewed, rubbing Credence’s back.

Credence decided Gellert’s hunch betrayed his still bright eyes to the tiredness he must have felt, and wondered why the man was pushing himself to stay up so late so very suddenly. He thought about asking, and as so often happened now, wondered whether Gellert would answer his thoughts before he ever had to speak them aloud. 

Gellert didn’t, so Credence finally gave in. 

“Will you be up much longer?” He leaned over and rested his head against Gellert’s arm. 

“Very likely.” Nimble fingers began to massage the back of Credence’s neck, dipping down to the base and then pulling upward, creating the most divine sensation on every stroke. 

“Does it have anything to do with the paper this morning?” Credence asked, his voice little more than a breath of air, consonants slurred together while he let himself sink into the touch and fold even more into Gellert’s side. 

“It does, indeed. Nothing you need to worry about yet.” 

The fingers drew up to scratch along Credence’s scalp and his eyes closed without thinking. But Credence’s ear still caught on one word. 

“Yet?” 

Gellert hummed in confirmation, and they sat in silence for another stretch of time until the sound of water boiling drew Gellert up and away, searching out cups. With a wave of his hand, Credence watched the steaming pot rise into the air and pour the rich roast into a mug while Gellert’s eyes grew heavier at the sight of it. He must have been very tired. He had that look about him that made Credence want to go to him, the one where his shoulders seemed burdened and his gestures were slower, but he kept himself moving at a regular pace. Credence had seen it a few times now, but he didn’t know what caused it precisely. 

The days Gellert brought him out to train the obscurus knocked Credence out at the end every time, but Credence didn’t get to see the work he did with the others. He only saw the aftermath—the places they set up, the fields and the makeshift battlegrounds. He only heard Gellert talk about them occasionally, mentioning meeting after meeting and Credence couldn’t follow them. 

He knew Gellert was planning, organising, positioning his people around the world somehow, but he didn’t have access to the details. 

Gellert took the first sip and sighed, eyes lowered for a minute before he broke himself out of the trance. He brushed Credence’s hair, much in the same way Mr. Graves had as he left, but Gellert took a longer moment to pull Credence into his side. He let Credence wrap his arms around his waist and hold on, wanting to feel the press of him before he parted. Then Gellert’s fingers were moving through his hair again, and Credence knew he had to let go. 

“You should get some sleep,” Gellert advised even though Credence didn’t need it. 

Credence could sleep as much or as little as he wanted if he didn’t have to go out with Gellert in the morning. But he nodded regardless. Credence would consider it, but he wasn’t sure he would take up the suggestion. When Gellert pulled away, Credence followed down the hall, wishing they could divert into the bedroom and Gellert could leave his work for the morning. 

Credence was spoilt. He’d always been so good at sleeping alone, had never considered otherwise until Gellert arrived in his life, and now, after having both Gellert and Mr. Graves share the night, he missed them already. He didn’t want to sit alone in bed, trying to fall asleep with just the blankets to keep him warm. He wanted the familiarity of Gellert’s arms. He wanted to feel the beat of Gellert’s heart against him, anything to remind him he wasn’t alone anymore. 

But Gellert didn’t detour. He slipped into his study and shifted the door so that it was nearly shut behind him, right next to Mr. Graves’ closed door. Credence was grateful that one of them remained open, if only a little. 

He knew he should leave Gellert alone now, but that slim crack in the threshold told him that if he needed anything, he could come and knock. 

With a heavy sigh, Credence brought himself back to the living room, searching out his books. He wanted something fantastical, not something he had to think about, but even after finding one and spending some time with it, Credence found that he was still restless. And growing tired. He moved into the bedroom, but still he didn’t want to sleep. 

He sat himself up with his back against the pillows and the pillows against the headboard, book in his lap, and the expanse of the bed out before him, and tried to stay awake in the silence of the room. Mr. Graves’ room was always silent after the door was shut, but not even Gellert made a sound doing whatever it was he was doing in the study. 

Credence spent what may have been another hour like that before he was beginning to list to one side, heavy with the pull of sleep and the comfort of the bed right there. He was fighting it and losing when the door swung slowly inward and a familiar blond head followed by a pair of shoulders leaned inside. 

Credence snapped back up and rubbed his hands over his eyes, unsure of whether he’d actually drifted off or not. Gellert looked tired, eyes heavier than before, but fixed on Credence. 

“Get up. I’m making pancakes,” was all Gellert had to say before he left the room. 

Left wondering whether he hadn’t fallen asleep after all, Credence stared at the empty doorway. Finally, he pulled himself up and followed out into the hall in his rumpled nightclothes. All the lights were out except for a soft glow from the kitchen, and as Credence neared, he discovered Gellert moving efficiently about, waving one hand for a bag of flour from one cupboard while reaching for a stack of plates out of another. 

Credence rubbed his eyes again. He paused at the doorway, but Gellert didn’t acknowledge his presence. Vaguely, Credence wondered why he hadn’t asked Gwendoline to do it if he was hungry, but the sight of Gellert moving about the kitchen and gathering things together was too entrancing to break the moment and ask. 

By hand, Gellert cracked a pair of eggs over a large bowl and then a whisk moved in to take over while he looked for other ingredients. He looked no less tired than he had earlier, but by his motions alone, Credence wouldn’t have known it. Everything he did was quick, efficient, and practised. 

Credence stood there, transfixed while he worked until the stove was lit and the bowl was pouring the mix into a frying pan. Only then did Gellert turn around and lean against the counter top, lazily directing its motion before settling everything back into place while the pancakes cooked. 

Gellert looked Credence up and down and offered him the barest smile, and Credence felt warmed from the inside. 

This was not what he’d expected, but it was what he’d wanted. 

“ _Liebling_.” Gellert raised a hand and called Credence to him. 

It was a word he didn’t recognise, but the gesture was unmistakable. So Credence went to his side and let himself be pulled in. He was tired enough to rest his cheek against Gellert’s stomach and lean into him heavily, but Gellert held him steady, the arm around his shoulders strong and sure. 

Gellert held Credence like that until the plates were full and the air was rich with batter and the sweet tartness of lingonberries. They floated into the air alongside Gellert’s raised palm as he led Credence into the dining room. They settled in close together, ignoring propriety and the state of the tablecloth while Gellert piled their plates high. 

Credence cocked his head at the berries and Gellert smiled. His eyes held a rare twinkle that made him seem younger than he looked. 

“You’ll like it,” Gellert assured him. “This was how I had them in school.” 

Credence looked up at that, never having considered before whether Gellert went to school or not. Although he must have, of course, someone as educated as he was. Unless he’d educated himself. But all Credence knew of wizarding schools was what he’d learnt in the textbooks Gellert provided, and he could barely imagine this man attending one. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“Far north of here, in Norway.” Gellert sliced his fork into one of the soft cake folds and raised it to his mouth. When he took a bite, his eyes closed. 

It was such a peaceful expression, Credence could only remember it on him in those very late hours or very early ones, either drifting off to sleep or waking before he thought about the day ahead. 

It inspired Credence to try a bite of his own. The morsel melted in his mouth, still hot from the pan, and the berries were not overwhelmingly sweet nor were they as tart as he might have expected. They were so good he immediately took another bite, and then another after that, while Gellert chuckled at his side. 

“Durmstrang?” Credence asked when he paused to think again. There had been only one school in the north that he’d read about, and as far as he knew, there were not many. 

“Yes, Durmstrang.” Gellert’s eyes were fond watching him, telling him without words that Gellert appreciated his studies. 

Credence supposed he hadn’t been back there in some time, his life probably didn’t allow for it and as far as Credence knew, most people didn’t return to their schools once they left, but the pancakes told him that Gellert remembered the place fondly. 

“Is wizarding school very difficult?” Credence tried to picture it. He’d seen a photograph, if he remembered correctly, but he couldn’t remember which one was the school Gellert spoke of. There had been a chapter on them, some nestled among hills of snow looking like distant castles and those stood out in his mind with the Scandinavian-like background. 

“It can be. Magic doesn’t come as easily for some as it does for others. Some are particularly strong, some are talented in only one area, and others…. It all varies, like any form of study.” 

It didn’t seem as easy for Gellert to slip into lecture mode when he was this tired, but his tone was still patient and measured. Credence was sure Gellert understood why he asked, though. Gellert didn’t have to ask how his practise had gone with the wand earlier that day. 

“Don’t be so disheartened. You don’t feel like it, but you are a very powerful wizard. Just not a normal one.” 

Credence nodded, breaking contact with Gellert’s quietly piercing eyes and turning back to his pancakes. They made him feel better, filling his stomach with warmth and distraction from his situation. That seemed to be enough for Gellert, who rubbed Credence’s slim shoulder before turning back to his own plate. 

They ate in companionable silence after that, savouring the late night meal, enjoying the impromptu nature of it and the stillness of the apartment as though it was just the two of them again. When Credence thought of Mr. Graves now, even hidden away in his room at the end of the hall, it didn’t seem so bad, and he realised some of the tension between them had gone, even in regards to minutia like the atmosphere of the place with them all in it. Credence hoped it felt that way for Mr. Graves as well, but he didn’t linger on the thought long. Too nice were those moments with Gellert, alone and full and caught up in the lateness of the night—those few hours that seemed apart from either side of the day and became another world all their own. 

When Credence was done, Gellert floated their plates back into the kitchen and gathered him into his arms, content to sit for a while longer in the stillness. 

Credence wondered whether that meant something, whether Gellert was taking so many extra moments with him when he didn’t have to. When he could have gone to bed. When he could have gotten the sleep he so clearly needed, and woken up rested with Credence there beside him still. It felt different, somehow, that night, kind of like being in the other world with a time all its own.

Credence wondered when he would get to go back again as he tucked his chin into Gellert’s shoulder, feeling himself being lifted and carried, eyes drifting shut as the light went out behind them. The lamps along the wall illuminated the way as they went, switching on one after another along with their pace before they faded out again in the background. 

Credence drifted off before they ever made it to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on tumblr: [thepiperofhameln.tumblr.com](https://thepiperofhameln.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fan Art] Witches Live Among Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9802694) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)
  * [[Fan Art] Credence's Two Daddies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908657) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)
  * [[Fan Art] Plushie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11397558) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)
  * [[Fan Art] Chin Up & Quiet Time | Devil's Bridge Sketches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101127) by [x57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x57/pseuds/x57)




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